


angel boy

by knlalla



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Overstimulation, POV Third Person, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, Sort Of, Strippers & Strip Clubs, angel!Dan, but it's not all that relevant, but like barely, demon!phil, just want it to be known
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-04
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-07-07 01:24:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 29,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15898062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knlalla/pseuds/knlalla
Summary: for the anon that sent "Oh fuck, now I need a smutty fanfic with twink!Dan taking it from behind with his angel wing tattoo (or real ones for that matter... actually, yes please, real ones. And Phil has a kink for being a bit rough with them... maybe Phil's a demon... fuuuck, someone write this for me?)"Aka the one where angel!Dan goes into a demon club looking for a bit of entertainment.





	1. Part 1

This isn’t _at all_ the kind of place Dan would normally walk into, not in a thousand years. And he’s had a thousand, and then some, but he’s never quite worked up the nerve to actually act on the passing desire that tugged at his chest whenever he walked past a place like this until today.

And maybe that had been a good thing.

He stands just inside the entrance now, self-consciousness dripping from his pores like sweat as he takes in the dark scene around him: blueish purple UV lights cast odd, hazy shadows, throwing the entire club - stage and all - into a cool mess of shapes; Dan catches a glint every now and again as white teeth flash at him from unknown faces. He’s suddenly not so sure this had been as great an idea as it was the moment he pulled himself to a stop at the door.

Not for the first time, he’s left cursing the pure white of the feathered wings arching from his back - they're lovely, sure, but the blacklight highlights them like a spotlight, drawing looks from every corner as he takes a few hesitant steps further into the darkness of the club.

But he’s determined, if nothing else - at least enough to try to fit in, now that he’s here. It’d be far more embarrassing to turn tail and run now that he’s inside than to stay and act like he knows what he’s here for.

In a way, though, he _does_ know: his eyes flick up to the long stage running through the middle of the club, a thrill spiking in his chest in spite of the empty runway. 

The angel clubs are _fine_ , full of gorgeous women with delicate white wings and draping, goddess-like dresses, and it's all quite classy and he can kill some time but it's _boring_. _They're_ boring, with their stuffy luxuries, the other angels staring down their noses at Dan as though he doesn’t belong. And he supposes they were right, he didn’t. Still doesn't, although he isn’t quite sure he belongs here either, stood in the middle of a demon club surrounded by leathery black wings attached to all manner of people who seem to find him - and no doubt the pearly-white wings fluttering nervously behind him - _very_ intriguing.

Predatory eyes follow him from every corner as he shuffles his way to the nearest unoccupied table, one close to the stage and not so close to any of the other patrons; their gaze weighs on his shoulders, which he rolls before he sits, letting his wings extend briefly before pulling them in close, keeping them as tight against his back as the chair will allow. He’s here to _see_ the show, not _be_ the show.

“I’m Phil, I’ll be taking care of you tonight. Can I get you something to drink?” The voice makes him jump, already on edge just from being here, and he whirls around to find a man watching him with a smirk and lifted brows, clearly just as curious as everyone else. Dan stuffs his nerves down into his chest and does his best to mirror the man's cool, casual demeanor, leaning back in his chair and letting his wings relax until the tips brush the floor.

“Something strong,” Dan nods and waves a hand in dismissal, though he watches Phil’s expression shift from curious to slightly amused; he’s left wondering if that was the wrong thing to say, if he’d just lost the minuscule hope he had of fitting in and laying low for the evening, just for long enough to enjoy what he’d come here for.

But he only gets to wonder for a second, and then he’s distracted as Phil turns, heads back to the dimly-lit bar Dan can just make out on the other side of the club. Because he isn’t looking, Dan lets himself stare at the smooth dark wings arching up from Phil’s back - a perfect match for his black hair - then at the curve of his shoulders, the curve of his _ass_ , and all Dan’s nervous thoughts turn to hopes that his waiter might also be part of the show tonight.

Those hopes, however, are crushed a few moments later when low, edgy music bursts from the speakers and a line of men and women - and maybe some people who aren’t either - slink out onto the stage, following the beat of the music as they twist and turn their half-naked bodies to entice Dan and the other patrons.

And really, they're quite beautiful, a myriad of shapes and sizes and skin tones, some covered in tattoos while some sport gorgeous, fierce makeup, some draped in lace and some in leather, all in black, each one with demon wings arching from their backs; Dan's glad for the change in pace from the carbon-copy blonde women in all the angel clubs. He wants, truly, to enjoy the display, the dark, heavy feeling he gets from watching them all, like he’s doing something _wrong_ and thrilling, like one of them might call him out for being here, take his hand and drag him to one of the curtained rooms he’s noticed in the back, make him regret acting on his desperate, impulsive desires in the best way possible.

And then there’s a drink set before him, something light blue in a martini glass that doesn’t look like it suits the venue in the slightest. Dan follows the pale hand holding the drink up to the face of his waiter, who seems rather more interesting than the show all of a sudden.

He glances at Dan just before releasing the glass, then nods at it when Dan forgets how to move. 

“Give it a try,” he suggests, and Dan wants nothing more than to comply; his hand jerks from where it’d been sat in his lap, nearly knocking the glass over but managing to grab the stem and lift it to his lips.

It’s saccharine-sweet and he thinks it might taste of blueberries, but its it's near impossible to tell behind all the sugar. A soft laugh startles him, makes him lift his head and attempt to smooth out the grimace he’d let slip into his expression.

“Too strong?” Phil asks, lips pressed in a line to fight a poorly concealed grin. Dan huffs out a breath, setting the glass down and sliding it away.

“Too _sweet_ ,” he quips back as he crosses his arms over his chest, letting the dark atmosphere embolden him enough to quirk his brow, to let the next words fall from his tongue. “I thought this was a _demon_ club, is this really the best that can be done?”

Nerves flutter in his chest at the way Phil’s brows lift a bit further, the way his wings fidget behind him before he lifts the glass from Dan's table with a smirk. 

Dan isn’t quite sure what's happening anymore, especially not on the stage behind him, but the music thrums a low beat in his chest as he watches Phil head back to the bar and lean against it, say something to the bartender, then cast a glance over his shoulder. Piercing blue eyes meet his in spite of the darkness, and Dan wonders if someone's gone and lit him on fire - Phil doesn’t stop staring, holding Dan's gaze until the bartender sets two shot glasses beside him.

Then he takes one in each hand and heads back to Dan’s table, lips curling in a smirk as he gets closer; it's not til he’s stood right there, setting a shot on the wood surface with a plunk, that Dan realizes his mouth has fallen open just a bit. He clamps it shut.

“Alright, angel boy,” Phil chuckles through the words - if anyone else had called him that, Dan might have half a mind to be pissed, but as it stands, he’s left wondering what exactly he has to do to get Phil to say it again. “Think this’ll be strong enough for you?” Dan swallows thickly, lifting the glass to his lips and downing it; it burns a trail of fire down his throat, but the heat doesn’t even come close to the flickering blue flames in Phil’s eyes as he does the same with the other shot.

Then Dan watches as he sets the empty glass on the table and extends a pale hand, brows lifted in question; it takes Dan's spinning mind a solid two seconds to comprehend the offer, to take Phil’s hand and stand from his chair.

Vaguely, he’s aware there’s still a show going on - the original reason he came here - he’s aware of the eyes that follow him and Phil through the dark club, he’s aware that he’s got no idea what he just agreed to, he’s aware he’s about to walk into a dark corner or one of those rooms or who knows what with a complete stranger, with a _demon_ of all people. 

And he _wants_ it.

Every nerve ending in his body lights up with the realization, with the excitement of something new and a little dangerous, and he lets himself be dragged toward a curtained alcove bathed in a deep blue light that somehow makes the space feel darker. Or maybe that's more to do with the man pulling him inside, drawing the curtains shut, turning toward him with something dark and predatory in his gaze. And it’s _exhilarating_.

Phil steps closer, slow in his movements, a complete contrast to his evident eagerness to get Dan alone here - and _god_ , he had wanted Dan alone here. He wants _Dan_. The thought sends heat racing to his core, sets his cock to growing and aching against his skin-tight jeans. Phil crowds him against the sofa-like thing behind them, a big round cushion that's probably more a bed than anything. 

“You came out here,” Phil says, a hand settling on Dan's hip while the other traces the exposed line of his collarbone. He’s suddenly _immensely_ glad he decided to wear this particular jumper, although it's quickly becoming far too hot and itchy against his skin and he sort of wishes Phil would take it off him. “To a demon bar,” fingers trail down Dan's chest, pausing at the hem of his shirt, and he swallows thickly; if he’d ever feared for his life before, it pales in comparison to this: he’s pretty sure the anticipation alone is likely to kill him.

And then the hand is gone, and Dan opens his eyes - though he doesn’t remember letting them drift shut - to find a pale, bare chest in front of him, and he can’t quite tear his gaze away from the sight. He lifts a hand, breath hitching when he touches smooth skin.

“And now you think you're all tough and edgy and dark,” Phil’s still speaking, Dan knows - he hears the words - but all he can focus on is pulling Phil back to him, feeling his chest against him and maybe getting a taste of his lips, or maybe Dan would prefer those lips on his skin, he really can’t decide, too overwhelmed by possibilities. And by the sensation of fingers once again finding the hem of his jumper, lifting the material up and over his head. He lets his wings relax, lets the fabric be discarded elsewhere, lets Phil press up against his chest until his legs hit the sofa and Dan's being pushed over, falling heavily onto his back. Onto his wings, and it hurts, but he almost doesn’t mind.

Except his face must give him away, or he must've made a noise or something, because Phil pulls back immediately. Dan sits up, both to get the weight off his stupidly fragile wings and to chase the lips he’d been half a second, half an _inch_ away from kissing.

“I'm sorry, I didnt- I should've realized-" Phil starts, but Dan's already sliding a hand up his chest, letting the momentary softness in Phil’s demeanor give him a little bit of confidence, enough to grip the base of Phil’s neck and pull him in, to crash their lips together in a rough approximation of a kiss.

If Phil’s surprised by the sudden move, he doesn’t act it aside from a brief moment of stillness; then arms wrap Dan and hold him close, chest flush against his, distracting and intoxicating right up til the moment Phil’s hips - straddling his own - roll down and provide some unexpected but much-needed friction. Without thinking, Dan whines into Phil’s mouth, bucking his own hips up the moment the pressure disappears, desperately chasing the sensation and simultaneously hoping the purpose of pulling back includes stripping them both down to far fewer layers.

But Dan gets neither of the things he craves, just a soft chuckle into his lips as Phil leans away slightly, enough to breathe.

“Impatient, angel boy. You want me that badly?” He asks, and Dan has half a mind to shove him off and walk out the door right then. Except he’s _right_ , which is even more infuriating, so Dan just ends up glaring at Phil, watching those blue eyes flick down to his lips, then his chest, then lower. And, really, Dan can't be blamed if his cock twitches in interest, if his hips shift up ever so slightly, a needy request for more. 

And then Phil’s mouth finds Dan’s jaw, sliding wet heat down his neck, down to his collarbone, then further to his nipple, and he has to bite his lip against a very embarrassing noise that still makes its way up his throat and out into the hot air around them. Unintentionally, Dan’s wings flex behind him, matching the curl in his toes as Phil swirls his tongue around, sucks hard before working his way back up to Dan's neck.

“What do you want?” Phil asks, a hot breath in Dan's ear before his teeth graze the sensitive skin below his jaw. Dan's brain short circuits, frazzled electricity sparking across his body as he tries to come up with a response. 

“Y- you?” He manages after far too long, but Phil hasn’t stopped his ministrations and its it's nearly impossible to think straight. Or to think at all. 

“You have me,” he says, voice low and gravelly and back in Dan's ear. “And what do you want me to do, angel boy?” Dan can feel the smile against his skin as Phil returns to sucking at his neck, pulling a soft whimper from Dan's throat. Words bubble up in his chest, a combination of demands he doesn’t have the audacity to make and pleading requests he’s far too embarrassed to ask for.

“If you don’t want to tell me,” Phil says, taunting between gentle nips at Dan’s neck; his fingers slide at the waistband of Dan's jeans, just dipping below the hem. “I should probably head out there, get back to-"

“Fuck me!” The words slip from Dan's tongue before he can stop them, breathy and high, and heat flushes his cheeks. Phil pauses, and Dan suddenly wonders if he’s gone too far, if he’d misread the whole damn thing somehow and he’s about to get thrown out on his ass for- _god_ , did he just tell a _demon_ to _fuck him_? He can’t believe himself, his idiocy - surely the guy isn’t even into him like _that_ , Dan's probably just a bit of entertainment for his break.

“Demanding, angel boy,” Phil huffs out a breath of laughter and shakes his head, hair tickling Dan’s neck, “you want me to fuck you? Right here, right now?” The words that fall from Phil’s lips leave Dan hot in an entirely different way, and he sucks in a breath when Phil’s head lifts, when their gazes meet; dark, hooded eyes stare back at him, a smirk playing on Phil’s lips, and it's all Dan can do to tell his muscles to move, to nod, and to try his best not to actually beg. But _fuck_ does he want that.

Phil’s lips curl up just that little bit more, like he didn’t even need a proper answer to know exactly what Dan wanted, and it pisses him off nearly as much as it excites him - this wasn’t at all how he planned on his evening going, but he’s not about to complain, not when Phil leans back, makes quick work of the button on Dan’s jeans and tugs at the waistband until Dan gets the message and lifts his hips. Both layers end up on the floor, forgotten as Phil sits back, rakes his gaze across Dan’s exposed body.

And he feels _exposed_ \- even the dim nature of the blue lighting in the room is enough to see by, and there’s quite literally nowhere for Dan to hide as Phil takes in the view. Absently, Dan’s wings flex behind him, nervous energy demanding some kind of outlet as he waits, lets Phil appraise him. 

Moments pass, then minutes, then Dan’s sure Phil must be bored by now but he _keeps staring_ , long enough that Dan wonders if he’s not been subjected to some elaborate prank, one where he’s the butt of the joke and a slew of cameras are about to come out of nowhere, or the curtains are about to be pulled back to reveal the _poor naked angel, thought he could get some demon tail, how pathetic, everyone laugh at him_.

Heat flushes his skin and he’s about to stand, to find his clothes and make himself at least halfway decent before any of that can happen, but he catches the movement of Phil’s hand and it makes him pause. 

It’s quite far from subtle, the way Phil palms himself through his jeans, and Dan sucks in a breath, chewing on his lip as he dares to lift his gaze to Phil’s face - surely he wouldn’t do _that_ , not if it were truly a joke. Surely he wouldn’t be into it, wouldn’t be-

And then Phil’s backed away, stood from the bed, and his jeans hit the floor as well, along with his pants; it’s Dan’s turn to stare in awe - Phil’s nothing short of _gorgeous_ , pale skin tinted blue in the strange lighting, an incredible color combination with the black wings he’s extended to scrape the edges of the curtains. And his _cock_ …

“ _Please_ ,” Dan breathes the word, too afraid to ask for more, to be _too_ demanding, except perhaps he should be - then maybe he’d get called ‘angel boy’ again. He’s quite liking that, when it comes from Phil’s lips. He can feel his heartbeat thrumming in his chest, hard and fast and a pretty good match for the way he’d like Phil to be fucking him, and why isn’t he getting on with it already?

Finally, _finally_ , as if Dan’s voice has broken some spell, Phil steps forward, climbs onto the sofa-bed-thing and crawls up toward Dan. And doesn’t break eye contact, not _once_. Dan’s breaths come fast as he watches, piercing blue eyes holding him transfixed - vaguely, he’s aware of the dips in the cushion where Phil’s limbs land, he’s aware of the stretch of wings arching over them that Phil seems to have no intent of reigning in, he’s aware of the heat in his chest and core and lower that demands attention, but all he can focus on is _Phil_.

 _Phil_ , who seems intent on taking his time, on dragging his fingers slowly up from Dan’s thigh, across his hip - very clearly avoiding the one spot Dan would like him to touch - and up his side, coming to rest just over his collarbone. Though there’s no pressure, Dan leans back on his elbows, just until the weight on his wings starts to ache.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Phil’s voice comes out unexpectedly soft, tight, though still low, and Dan’s half a second away from saying Phil can do _whatever the fuck he wants_ so long as it includes Dan getting thoroughly fucked; Phil just tilts his head, twists his lips, and it makes Dan pause.

“I’m not gonna fucking break,” Dan decides on, though his words don’t sound nearly as nonchalant as they had in his head, and he doesn’t quite manage the eye roll he’d been intending, too fixated on Phil, on the way his brows arch up his forehead and his lips part as he sucks in a breath; then there _is_ a pressure on Dan’s shoulder, enough to get him laid back flat - or as flat as he can be, with his wings spread out across the bed. He can feel the dull throb from the joints pressing into his back, but he can’t be bothered to mind; Phil’s gaze has turned dark again as he crawls over Dan, a smirk playing at his lips, and a shiver runs up Dan’s spine as he glances down at Phil’s cock hanging low and heavy between them.

 _Fuck_ he hadn’t realized how much he wanted this until just now.

“I think I could break you, angel boy,” Phil practically growls, his smirk growing as he speaks, and Dan’s fully gone, lost in whatever unreal scene is playing out here, because Phil’s eyes meet his for a moment before his teeth find Dan’s neck again - they’re not gentle, this time, biting hard enough to leave marks that Dan might regret in the morning. Or maybe he won’t, he’ll need some kind of reassurance this wasn’t - _isn’t_ \- all a dream.

At least for now, he’s fairly sure he’s wide awake - no need to pinch his skin, he decides, not with the way Phil’s hand presses his shoulder hard into the cushion, with the way his wing aches to move. Dan tugs at the muscle, just enough to make it twitch, though it does nothing for the spreading pain in his shoulder. Except he doesn’t really feel bothered enough to care, because Phil’s other hand has finally _finally_ found his cock.

And it’s far worse than the pain of his wings crushed against his back; Phil’s just dragging a finger lightly up his shaft with nowhere near enough friction to provide any kind of satisfaction, and Dan starts to wonder if maybe Phil had meant to break him _mentally_ instead of physically. If so, he’s doing an excellent job so far.

“ _Phil_ ,” he whines, a strangled sort of whimper following the name as Phil releases his shoulder, releases his teeth, and sits back - or, rather, to the side, leaving Dan completely exposed again and honestly a bit chilled; cool air bites his skin, the thin layer of sweat like a sheet of ice without Phil’s body heat.

And then Dan’s shivering for a whole different reason, Phil’s hand sliding up his calf and catching under his knee, pulling his leg up until it’s pushed against his chest; the angle crushes the joints of his wings further into his shoulder blades, but that hardly matters as long as Phil has access to what Dan’s desperately hoping he’s going for. 

When a hand slides across his ass, Dan has to remind himself to actually fucking _breathe_ because he’s not about to pass out before any of the fun’s even started.

“Suck,” Phil’s fingers appear in Dan’s field of vision, right in front of his mouth, and he opens obediently; he’s just thinking he ought to give Phil a taste of his own medicine, that he might swirl his tongue and lick up the sides of his fingers, a silent example of just how unangelic he really is, but then he’s lost his chance - Phil’s gone, and Dan gets exactly no warning before a warm, wet finger pushes past the tight ring of muscle below him. He sucks in a breath, the intrusion unexpected and a bit painful, but Phil starts to move - slowly, like he really _is_ worried he might hurt Dan - and the drag is intoxicating.

The dull throb in his shoulders has spread to the rest of his chest, and the heat of the friction from Phil’s finger sends warmth up to meet it - the sensations clash in the best way, and Dan squeezes his eyes shut, dropping his head back against the cushion beneath him.

When Phil adds a second finger, the burn doubles alongside the stretch, but the pleasure might as well triple - Phil wastes no time finding that spot, the one that leaves Dan a whimpering mess, rocking as best he can onto Phil’s hand. He can feel the tips of his wings trembling against the edge of the bed, aching both with the need to move from their uncomfortable position and with the need to _move_ , to reflect the overwhelming sensation of Phil’s fingers inside him, dragging against his walls and sending spikes of pleasure through his body that leave his cock leaking onto his stomach.

Distracted as he is, Dan nearly jumps out of his skin when he feels a touch on his wing. 

His eyes fly open to find Phil frozen in place, one hand hovering just over the white feathers of Dan’s wing and the other still inside him.

“Sorry, I didn’t- I just wanted to touch-” Phil’s voice has lost it’s in-control taunting tone again, the way it had when he’d been afraid to cause Dan any pain, and Dan almost wants to laugh. Almost.

“Touch whatever you’d like,” he offers, wishing he could match Phil’s earlier sultry confidence, but Phil only pulls further away, shifting closer to Dan’s legs and frowning. For a moment, Dan watches Phil’s eyes flick back over to his wing, then Phil shakes his head as if trying to clear it before refocusing on the fingers still inside Dan. 

“I want you to- _ah_ , to- to touch them,” Dan says, gasping through the second half of his sentence the moment Phil starts moving again; he’s quick to slide a third finger in, and Dan winces against the burn until a soft touch, just barely at the edge of his wing, makes him turn. And, really, it’s a monumental effort to focus on anything other than Phil’s fingers inside him. 

“It’s okay?” Phil asks, and Dan has to suppress a laugh. 

“Yeah, _demon boy_ , don’t your wings, uh…” he trails off at the scrunched brows and pursed lips turned down in a frown. Unintentionally - or so Dan assumes - Phil brushes his prostate, and Dan bites his lip against a moan, pushing himself onto Phil’s fingers and letting his head fall back again.

“Don’t they what?” Phil prompts, as if he’s not fully aware of the way he’s short-circuited Dan’s brain, as if he thinks Dan can somehow carry on a proper conversation about _anything_ right now, let alone- what were they even talking about?

Phil’s hand plays at the edge of Dan’s wing again, a silent reminder, and he at least manages to avoid Dan’s prostate for the moment - a blessing and a curse, though Dan would much rather something else inside him anyway. Also, Phil had asked a question, right? Which had been…

“They’re not- _fuck_ , uh, sensitive?” Dan tries to keep his breathing even as he speaks, though he knows his coherence is fighting a losing battle against this desperate, primal urge to finish this conversation and get on to the good stuff.

Instead of answering, Phil stretches his wings out behind him, a deep black accented with shades of blue where the light’s shined on them just right. He flicks at the leathery membrane with his free hand, and just _seeing_ the action is enough to make Dan’s own wing twitch against the bed.

“Not really, it’s all cartilage, a bit of muscle,” Phil shrugs, and his fingers slide out of Dan; he aches at the loss, clenching around nothing, though Phil doesn’t make any move to fill Dan with his cock. He glances down to find Phil’s still hard, though, and he lets himself imagine just for a moment how it would - _will_ , he hopes - feel to have that buried in him, to have Phil fuck him senseless. His tongue swipes out across his lips.

“Why, are yours a lot more-” Phil breaks off, letting his fingers drift from the feathers at the edge of Dan’s wing up to the center - it’s a bit like being tickled, and Dan can’t help the instinct to flinch away, but it’s dampened by the awkward angle against the bed and he really only ends up making it twitch. “Oh.” Phil says, hand splaying flat across a stretch of Dan’s wing; it’s warm and without any pressure, and Dan would almost feel a bit comfortable if not for literally every other inch of his body aching - particularly his ass, still demanding to be filled. 

“Yeah, do you mind, though? Not getting- _ah_!” Dan exhales a shaky breath as Phil’s hand trails down the curve of his wing, his fingers sliding between a few of the feathers the way they might if he were combing through Dan’s hair. His cock twitches against his stomach, and he bucks up involuntarily, searching for _anything_ to give him half a second of satisfaction in place of just being wound up.

“ _Oh_ ,” Phil’s lips curl up at his discovery, then they twist into a wicked grin - Dan’s not sure which he likes better, the casual, gentle Phil or the more demonic, teasing one, but a thrill runs through his chest at the switch. “Sit up,” Phil demands, pulling his hand away from Dan altogether - it’s not what Dan expected, but he doesn’t hesitate to comply, only wincing slightly as his wings regain their range of motion. He flexes them, hoping to get the joints worked out, as he waits for Phil’s next instruction. 

“On all fours,” Phil lets his words sink in, pausing until Dan’s eyes widen just slightly. When Dan doesn’t immediately move, Phil dips his head, a silent command to do as he’s told; Dan’s quicker this time, turning over until his ass and wings are arched in the air, cool after being pressed against the cushion beneath him for so long.

“Oh, I quite like you like this, angel boy.” Phil’s voice stays low, thick with desire as he traces a finger up the back of Dan’s thigh and over his ass; Dan desperately wants to turn around, to see exactly what Phil looks like - he imagines pupils blown wide, lip still curled up in a smirk, a dark lidded gaze that says just how much Phil’s enjoying this. That alone sends a spark of heat to Dan’s stomach, so when warm hands grasp his hips, he leans back into them, desperate for anything to get him closer to Phil and his cock.

Phil just chuckles, presses further against Dan, arches himself over Dan’s back. The weight against his wings isn’t anywhere near what it’d been before, though the ache hasn’t left, and Dan finds himself half-collapsing against the cushion beneath him; warmth surrounds him, skin pressed against his, and Phil’s hand appears in front of his face. Without being asked, he spits into it, pushing his ass back into Phil in the hopes of conveying he’d like to get on with this already and could Phil hurry up?

There’s a breath at his ear that sounds suspiciously like a laugh, then the warmth disappears and Dan’s left cold and impatient, leaning heavily now against the cushion under him; there’s a crinkle of foil behind him, and by the time Phil’s finished preparing, Dan’s propped himself up on an elbow and slid a hand between himself and the bed just to take the edge off, biting his lip as he sighs into the fabric of the bed.

Then, without warning, there’s a pressure at Dan’s entrance that leaves him sucking in a lungful of cushion. His hand stutters over his own cock as Phil pushes inside him, slow enough that the drag and burn set Dan’s head to spinning. 

He doesn’t quite breathe properly until Phil’s pressed fully into him and gone still, until he has a moment to acclimate to the stretch; when Dan finally nods, Phil continues the glacial pace he’d set before, and it feels _good_ but it’s not at all what Dan had been hoping for. Not _enough_.

“I said _fuck_ me,” he grumbles, still propped on an elbow; his hand has stilled under him as he tries to look over his shoulder, but his damn wing is in the way and he can’t see anything but inconvenient white feathers. He shifts his wings impatiently.

“Technically...” Phil starts, and Dan can hear the shit-eating grin in his voice.

“I thought you said you could _break me_ , or was that just an empty threat?” Dan taunts, smirking at the bed below him - he’s fairly certain of the reaction it’ll get, though he’s no idea of the specifics. 

Suddenly, Phil leans over, slides hands up his sides until they’re poised at the edges of his chest and gripping tight. His lips find Dan’s ear.

“ _I don’t make promises I don’t intend to keep, angel boy_ ,” Phil growls, and his hips shift back, the only warning Dan gets before Phil slams into him; the dragging of his fingers down Dan’s back matches the drag inside him as Phil sets a relentless pace, one that leaves Dan keening into the fabric of the bed and pushing himself back just that little bit further, desperate for Phil to find-

“ _Fuck_!” Dan nearly collapses onto the bed completely as Phil pounds into him, hitting his prostate now with every thrust and drawing whimpers from the back of his throat; vaguely, he’s aware of the noises Phil’s making above him - low, guttural sounds that could almost be growls if Dan had enough coherence to decipher them.

As it stands, he’s getting _exactly_ what he asked for, and that’s more than enough to wipe his mind of any and all thoughts; instead, his focus remains entirely on the visceral: the tight grip of Phil’s hands on his hips, fingers digging into his skin in a way that Dan’s hoping will leave bruises. The friction of his cock against the fabric of the cushion, providing an almost-painful modicum of relief. Oh, and the sensation of Phil burying himself in Dan over and over, sending him careening toward the edge in a matter of minutes - that on its own is more than enough to-

Without warning, Phil’s hands leave Dan’s waist, clamping down hard on his wings and pinning them to his back; Dan gasps, though the pressure Phil’s holding him with makes it come out as more of a whine, and Phil stills for a moment inside him.

“This is okay?” His voice comes out soft, nearly as wrecked as Dan feels, and it takes him a solid five seconds to return from the stratosphere and actually assess whether the tight grip on his wings - loosening as time passes - _is_ okay or not. He inhales a shaky breath, then flexes the joints, testing Phil’s hold.

When he’s met with no more than a dull ache, an echo of the sensation he’d felt earlier, he hums against the cushion. He might be physically _fine_ , but he’s not sure any of his muscles work well enough to lift him from the bed, to turn and nod or otherwise provide a proper answer. As it stands, his legs have started trembling from the stretch of Phil inside him, pressed in just far enough that the head of his cock brushes Dan’s prostate - though he’s growing more impatient with every passing second that Phil chooses to remain still.

“Said ‘s _fine_ ,” Dan finally adds when Phil still hasn’t moved, turning his head just enough that he can sort of properly speak; with his wings pinned - something he’s not sure he should feel so comfortable with - he can just see the corner of Phil’s face. Specifically his lip. Which has curled up in a smirk. Heat coils in Dan’s gut; though he’s got no idea of the implications, he’s fairly certain that smirk means something wickedly exciting for Dan.

“ _Up_ ,” Phil commands, the word accompanied by a backwards jerk to his wings. After a moment, just as Dan’s considering what might happen if he chooses _not_ to obey, Phil pulls his cock out of him and tugs again - Dan can’t decide if he should hate Phil for leaving him empty and aching or be ready to worship him for whatever he has in mind next. Carefully, he follows Phil’s guidance and pulls himself up to his knees, aching wings the only barrier now between he and Phil. 

If Phil would _let go_ , they might actually be able to get somewhere with this new position.

“Now, against the wall, angel boy,” the words come hot and low in Dan’s ear, and his sorely neglected cock throbs, begging for attention; except he’s being pushed forward, and he stumbles on his knees closer to the wall bordering the bed. A second shove - not hard, but not gentle either - sends him nearly crashing into the glossy black surface; he barely catches himself in time, the wall cool and smooth under his trembling fingers.

It’s not til a hand slides down Dan’s back that he realizes Phil’s released his wings. He gives them a tentative stretch, sucking in a breath as he peeks over his shoulder, but Phil seems focused on his next task - which Dan quickly realizes involves slipping that hand between Dan’s legs, forcing them apart just a bit further. And the image of the next few minutes - assuming Dan can even manage to last that long - fixes itself in Dan’s head with crystal clarity.

The hand disappears, though Dan can already feel his thighs tensing with anticipation, so he shudders out a shaky breath when Phil runs fingers through his wings again, tugging lightly at the feathers in a way that sends spikes of heat through Dan’s stomach.

“I’m going to fuck you against this wall,” Phil leans close, until his chest is pressed up against the planes of Dan’s back and his breath tickles Dan’s ear. “And make you scream my name, angel boy.” He punctuates the words with teeth against Dan’s neck, followed by the wet warmth of his tongue over the pricks of pain. It’s all Dan can do to nod, though the movement ends up being more of a tilt of his head, granting Phil easier access to bite and suck and lick at whatever he pleases.

“ _Whatever you want_.” Dan pants the words out, the only coherent thought in his head as Phil’s hands tug at his wings again, encouraging him to stretch them out fully. They don’t have the same breadth as Phil’s, not quite touching the edges of the curtained alcove, but Phil follows them with his hands until he runs out of reach; then he’s dragging his fingers back, against the lay of his feathers, and the sensation sends a shiver up Dan’s spine. He ends up bracing hard against the wall, too overwhelmed to give his cock the attention it’s so desperately craving.

Phil’s hand gets there before Dan can even properly begin thinking about how he might solve his problem of frozen muscles and a desperate, aching cock, and he wonders if he didn’t say something aloud to the effect of ‘ _please touch me, Phil, I need you so fucking bad’_. He wouldn’t put it past his own frazzled brain, he’s damn well tempted to say it now.

Except then there’s a pressure up against Dan’s entrance at the same time Phil’s hand closes around the shaft of Dan’s cock, and a long, low whine escapes his throat at the sensation; then Phil’s moving again, matching the movements of his hands and hips as he returns to that relentless pace, and Dan can barely hold himself up, let alone hold back any of the moans dripping from his lips - it just feels so _good_ , and he fights the building tightness in his core in the hopes that he can hold out just a bit longer, just enough to enjoy as much of this as he can.

But then the fingers of Phil’s free hand twine in the feathers of Dan’s wing again, tugging hard, and that’s it; Dan flies over the edge, and he may as well have no wings at all for the good they do him. Heat explodes through his body as he comes hard into Phil’s hand, riding out the high on a series of keening gasps of Phil’s name that devolve into whimpers as he comes down; whimpers, because Phil hasn’t stopped, still hitting his oversensitive prostate with every thrust and sending waves of pain mixed with pleasure through Dan’s trembling body. His wing - the one free from Phil’s attention - flexes and flutters in the wake of the feeling, desperate for an outlet for the overstimulation.

Just when the sensation of Phil still moving inside him makes tears prick at the corners of his vision - from pain or pleasure, he’s still not sure - Phil’s hips stutter against Dan, his fingers grip tight to the feathers of the wing he’d been holding, and his teeth find Dan’s shoulder, biting so hard at the skin beside his neck that Dan has half a mind to be worried there’ll be blood.

Except he sort of _wants_ a clear reminder of tonight, of whatever series of coincidences and choices had led to this exact moment, to Phil - this complete stranger Dan met at a _demon club_ of all places - leaning heavily against his back, panting in his ear as he comes down from his own high. 

Dan’s coherence returns in the form of mild discomfort and a wave of exhaustion as Phil pulls out of him, and he’s tempted to collapse onto the bed and just sleep there for the night. But it’s a _club_ , he reminds himself, and he can’t really do that. He has to find his clothes, pull them on over his sweat-slicked skin, and walk out the door into the cool night air like nothing just happened. He lets out a shaky breath against the glossy black wall as he steels himself to turn around and do just that.

Except the pressure and warmth returns to his back a moment later, hands resting on Dan’s hips and lips pressing unexpectedly gentle kisses in a trail from Dan’s shoulder up his neck.

“I get off at midnight,” Phil says, voice low as he pauses beside Dan’s ear, “you should stick around, angel boy.” 


	2. Part 2

“Looks like you’ve got another clingy one,” PJ’s voice stops Phil in his tracks and he spins on a heel, careful not to slosh the martini in his hand; PJ leans against the bar, quirking a brow and nodding his head toward something behind Phil.

Phil turns, gaze catching on the luminescent wings of the angel he’d just- well, they’d- _anyway_ , the guy’s sitting down at a table near the back, far from the stage and any other patrons who still sit enraptured by the show.

“Need me to call Chris and have him escorted out?” PJ asks, ready to enact their standard protocol when one of Phil’s break activities seems to have missed the message that this was a one-time thing. Except...

“I asked him to stay,” Phil blurts out, eyes widening slightly before he presses his lips together, and he whirls back around. He’s fairly certain he can’t look at PJ right now - his best friend would have no problem spotting the blush Phil feels creeping up his cheeks in spite of the dim atmosphere, and he’s not in the mood to undergo the embarrassment of an interrogation right now.

Besides, it’s not like he’s _never_ slept with someone more than once. That’d be a bit unreasonable. And the angel had been good, _really_ good, so who gives a shit if Phil wants seconds?

Vaguely, he hears the clink of a glass on the counter and a muttered ‘ _mate_ ’ as PJ returns to his actual job tending the bar; at least Phil’s bought himself some time. He uses it to visit the angel in question, who looks a bit startled when Phil approaches, eyes going wide as he sucks in a breath. His feathered wings twitch slightly, and Phil can’t help but be reminded of not long ago, when they’d been pinned to the bed and doing _exactly_ the same-

“Is that for me?” The guy asks, and Phil blinks, refocuses on the present. And only lets himself get a little excited about the future, once his shift ends in...just twenty minutes. He sets the glass on the table.

“It is, angel boy,” Phil lets his lip curl up, having practiced exactly the words he wants to say next. Because he’ll be damned if he lets this suave facade slip any more than he has since meeting the angel. “Dry and dirty, since you seemed to enjoy that earlier.” Phil’s half a second from attempting a wink when he abandons the effort - he knows how shit he is at winking, it’s probably for the best to leave it to a simple smirk.

And it does seem to have its intended effect: the angel goes a bit wide-eyed, dipping his head in a way that says he’s most definitely flustered before reaching for the glass and taking a sip. Phil’s transfixed on his mouth, then, on the soft pink lips he’d been kissing not half an hour ago as he waits for the angel’s verdict - this drink’s certainly not as sweet as the sugary concoction he’d rejected earlier, which was quite a shame as Phil would’ve liked to taste it on the angel’s lips.

The same angel now lowers the glass, and Phil doesn’t miss the way his tongue flicks out and over his lips. Phil has half a mind to tell him to let Phil be the one to do that, but warm brown eyes finally lift to meet his and he’s not entirely sure why he’d been planning to speak at all.

“It’ll do.” The angel tilts his head and his wings flutter behind him before settling. “I can think of a few things that might be a bit more satisfying, but I suppose I can wait for those.” He shrugs and drops his attention back to the drink, and Phil’s left attempting not to sputter, because what the hell is he meant to say to that? It’s far easier when he’s got a litany of chat-up lines and smooth comebacks floating around in his head, but right now all he can think about is what exactly he can do to the angel later that would be _satisfying_ enough for him, what other tricks Phil has up his sleeve to get his name falling from the angel’s lips-

“Your name!” Phil nearly shouts, half tempted to smack his own head. It’s not like he’s _never_ hooked up with someone and not known their name, but he feels particularly bad about this one, especially given that he intends there to be more.

“My- uh, Dan?” The angel - _Dan_ \- furrows his brows, setting the martini back on the table.

“Well, _Dan_ ,” Phil drops his voice low in the hopes of coming off a bit more smooth than he’d been in realizing he didn’t know the angel’s name. “I look forward to getting off tonight,” he adds a wink, then desperately hopes it’s dark enough that Dan didn’t see it. Because it was probably pretty bad, and he _really_ needs to stop trying.

And given the fact that Phil can _clearly_ see the deep pink blush that spreads across Dan’s cheeks when the angel dips his head, Phil has no doubt his embarrassing attempt hadn’t gone unnoticed. But at least Dan hadn’t said anything about it. Phil takes it as a win, spinning on a heel to make his escape before Dan can-

“ _Me too_.” Phil just barely hears it over the music, but he’s becoming quite attuned to that voice and the way it sends a shiver up his spine. That might also have to do with Dan’s words, his not-so-subtle implications, but either way, Phil finds himself grinning as he approaches the bar, checking the clock for what must be the fiftieth time in the past half hour.

Phil does his best to stay on task, delivering orders to PJ and drinks back to the patrons, but his eyes never leave Dan for long - to be fair, he’s quite hard to miss, white wings arched behind his back and glowing a vibrant blueish-purple in the blacklight.

Apparently, Phil isn’t the only one transfixed by Dan; once the show ends - not five minutes before midnight - half the demons in the club find a reason to drift by Dan’s table. Some, Phil notices, lean close, offer a passing compliment. Dan seems to brush them off easily enough with a smirk or some words Phil’s too far away to hear, but he supposes Dan should’ve known to expect trouble - an angel in a demon club? Clearly, he’d been asking for attention.

"Phil, you in there?" PJ's voice makes him startle - he'd definitely _not_ been staring at Dan, nor at Derek, a regular that Phil can't help but dislike who's made his slimy way over to Dan.

"Hm?" Phil offers over his shoulder, though he can't bear to tear his gaze from the dark corner, illuminated only by the light bouncing off Dan's wings - Derek's leaning close, a salesy-type grin on his face and, Phil doesn't doubt, a lewd come-on falling from his mouth. Dan, at least, seems to be handling it well. He leans back in the chair, crosses his arms, offers a smirk.

"Do I seriously need to finish your shift _for you?_ " PJ huffs out a breath that makes Phil finally turn and twist his lips in a silent apology. But the drinks set on the bar have already disappeared, and PJ brushes past Phil with a shake of his head. "May want to make sure Derek keeps his grimy hands off your angel." He adds, and Phil's attention refocuses immediately.

Sure enough, Derek's leaned in close, enough that Phil can tell Dan's trying to escape, even from here. And PJ's just cleared him to leave, which he very much intends to do right now. With Dan.

He makes it about halfway to Dan's table before Derek gets far too close for Phil's comfort - or, rather, gets so damn close that Phil wants to deck him across the jaw. Which is strange, as Phil's never really considered himself a violent person. But when the guy pets a hand down the curve of Dan's wing, and Dan flinches _very visibly_ to pull it away, Phil has half a mind to call Chris over and kick _Derek_ out. Or maybe take him out himself, teach him something about respect.

The fire in Phil's chest sparks to volcanic levels when Dan glances over, catches his eye, and he suddenly can't walk fast enough - he thinks Dan's saying something to Derek, though it's hard to tell and even harder to hear, but it doesn't stop the primal need to _protect_ , to do whatever he has to do to get Dan out of that situation.

Objectively, Derek just sort of touched Dan's wing, but it's more than obvious he'd not been okay with it - and Derek doesn't seem at all put off, either, already lifting his hand again. Phil has a sudden urge to snap it off at the wrist, maybe throw it across the club and tell Derek to go fetch.

"Phil!" Dan says, perhaps a little too loudly, but it does the trick of getting Derek to lean back and turn his head, to pause his attempt at touching Dan's wing again.

"Dan," Phil says it a bit like a question, eyes wide in a silent question he hopes Dan will understand - because if there's _any_ need to kick Derek's ass, he wants to know. Not that Phil would really know the first thing about actually fighting, but he's determined and pissed off, if nothing else, and surely that'd count for something, right?

"Oh, come on, I can't have your sloppy seconds?" Derek chimes in, making Phil turn with narrowed eyes - it wouldn't be the first time Derek's come on to one of Phil's one-night-stands, or one-break-stands, but even if Phil _didn't_ want more of Dan, it's pretty obvious Dan had been uncomfortable. Still is, if the quick glance over confirms anything: Dan's pressed his lips into a line and his back into the chair, his wings tucked tight against him and as far from Derek's reach as possible.

And then Dan's gaze flicks to Derek, a quick look that makes Phil's stomach drop and jealousy swirl in his chest. Or maybe something worse than jealousy.

"Dan," he says again, "my shift just ended, do you want to go?" He desperately hopes that's what Dan _does_ want, because now doubt drifts around in his head, discoloring every moment he's had Dan up til now - had Dan _not_ been that into it? Had he been faking? Had Phil made him uncomfortable by touching his wings the same way Derek just had? Phil suddenly feels sick to his stomach for an entirely different reason - he doesn't want to be a Derek.

Phil's brought back to the present by the scrape of a chair, and white, luminescent wings capture his attention; Dan's stood up, shifted just slightly to Phil's side. He lets a tiny smirk drift to his lips, and it only grows when Derek lets out a disbelieving scoff.

"Suit yourself, _angel_ , but don't come begging when he can't give you what you want." Derek adds as he turns, dark wings flexing wide behind him in what Phil knows is just a show of feigned dominance. It doesn't make him any less pissed off at his implication, though.

Before he can properly scowl at Derek's back long enough to satisfy his childish desire - really, he'd like to stick his tongue out, but that'd be going a bit too far, probably - there's a brush of a hand on his arm, and he turns back to find Dan staring.

"Should we..." Dan's gaze drifts to the entrance, and Phil follows it before looking back to Dan.

"Yeah, we should. Are you alright?" Anger swirls in his gut at the fact that Dan had to undergo any kind of encounter with Derek, _especially_ one that included making him so obviously uncomfortable, but Dan just drops his gaze and shrugs.

"'M fine, can we just..." he tilts his head, and Phil bites his tongue against anything else he wants to say - he's not sure he's in the kind of position where he can ask if Dan's _really_ okay, no matter how badly he wants to. So he just nods instead, and Dan takes a hesitant step forward that Phil matches, then they're brushing past Chris at the entrance and into the cool air.

And, just Phil's luck, Chris _can't help himself._

" _Woo_ , get it, Lester!" Phil just grits his teeth, exhales a long, slow breath, and glances at Dan. Who's got his lips pursed and his eyes fixed on the ground, though he still follows when Phil turns in the direction of his flat. A very uncomfortable silence follows in the wake of Chris' comment, even long after the sounds of the city at night have replaced the thumping bass of the club.

"So, you do this a lot, then." Dan says, no inflection in his tone to indicate _anything_ to Phil; he winces anyway, though he supposes it _is_ a fair thing to ask. Especially when the answer is, technically, _yes_.

Normally, when confronted with this question, Phil would spout a quick 'yes, but you're _different_ ', enough to mollify whoever he'd planned to spend the night with. Except the words sit on his tongue now and feel false and icky, like a lie given flavor.

"I do," Phil says instead, no qualifiers or excuses; he actually _does_ think Dan could be different, maybe, in the very back corners of his mind, but he's not sure he should say that. Not when it's been used so untruthfully before. The words drift uncomfortably between them for a while, and Phil feels he can't get enough of the cool night air to ease the nervous warmth spreading through his chest.

Because Dan could walk away right now, and there's nothing Phil could do to stop him. Dan could easily decide he doesn't want to be another in a long line of Phil's companions, and Phil would have to nod and smile and say it was nice while it lasted. Which it _was_ , but he'd like it to last a little longer.

It's not til they're nearly back to Phil's that he works up the nerve to glance over - a part of his brain says it's just to gauge the situation, but another part is already convinced this is it, and he should take one last look at this 'almost'.

Dan's just staring at the pavement, hands shoved into his pockets and gorgeous white wings tucked tight against his back. The tips stay just above the ground, bouncing slightly as he walks, and Phil finds himself slowing his pace just to take in the view; if this is it, if Dan decides he _doesn’t_ want to be just another hook-up - though Phil isn’t even sure that’s what he himself wants - Phil at least wants to remember whatever he can. The dimple in Dan’s cheek from his pursed lips. The soft curls of Dan’s hair accentuated by the yellowish street lamp. The graceful arc of Dan’s wings - really, they’re incredible in their own right, and getting to run his fingers through the soft feathers...not to mention the reaction it'd pulled from Dan...

"Are you- is this your place, then?" Dan pauses and turns, and Phil stumbles to a stop as well, eyes wide and heart racing like he's been caught doing something he shouldn't be. And perhaps he _shouldn't,_ Dan isn't _his_ , Dan's his own person who's allowed to not want to be with Phil and not want to come inside and not want to ever hear from Phil again if that's what he wants. Phil desperately hopes this isn’t the last he sees of Dan, though.

"It's- oh, actually it is," Phil turns to glance up at the building, a little surprised to find they've actually come to a stop in the right place. He supposes he's made this walk enough times, his brain was probably able to get him there on auto-pilot. He looks back to find Dan watching him, lips twisted and gaze flitting from spot to spot, never really settling. Fitting, given the way Phil’s stomach won’t quite settle either.

And on any other night with any other person, Phil wouldn't be the slightest bit nervous about asking, but - for some reason - he is. Dan's making him nervous: nervous he's crossed a line unintentionally, or that he'll be rejected, or that maybe Dan doesn't actually like him. Which is silly, he's never been with someone before who _didn't_ really want him after. But if he doesn't even ask...

"Do you want to come in?" The words slip off his tongue before he can stop them, a little mumbled and far too fast, and warmth crawls up his cheeks in spite of the chill of the evening. But at least it's dark - if Dan's about to say no, he can pretend he's not nearly as embarrassed as he most definitely will be. It takes a momentous effort for Phil to keep his eyes focused on Dan's face, to stop himself from dropping his gaze, but he's desperate for any indication what Dan's answer might be.

For a solid minute, Phil's sure, Dan just stares, blinks a few times. Then his wings rustle behind him, a bit like he's shrugging.

"Yeah, alright," he says it low, soft in a way that makes Phil want to second guess his initial thought that Dan sounded like he was smiling. Until Dan glances up, and there's a hint of a dimple in his cheek in spite of the near-nonexistent light. Then Phil's trying to contain his own smile - or at least keep it to something reasonable - as he fishes into his pocket to pull out his key.

It's not til they've climbed the stairs halfway up to Phil's flat that he hears an exasperated breath behind him, something bordering on a groan.

"I mean, bloody hell, we've got _wings_ , can't we use them?" Dan grumbles, and Phil squishes his face into something he thinks won't be _too_ shit-eating a grin before turning and staring down the steps at where Dan's still climbing. He waits til Dan's stood just below him, until he's a good head taller.

Then he lets his wings extend to their full breadth - or, really, as far as they'll go in the confines of the staircase, scraping the walls before they've even fully unbent. Phil lets Dan's gaze drift over his wings for a moment before pulling them back in and lifting his brows; Dan's lips twist down in a frown, though his own wings shuffle behind him, and Phil notices him draw them in a bit tighter to his back.

And once again, he wonders at the fact that they're _that_ sensitive, that Dan wouldn't even want them brushing the walls of the stairs - he'd barely felt the plaster scrape at the ends of his own wings.

"Well, go on then," Dan waves a hand, shaking his head as he waits for Phil to turn. Which he does, though he purposely keeps his pace a bit slower for Dan's sake. And his own - even after three years living here, the climb somehow never gets any easier, and the last thing he wants is to reach the top and have Dan laugh at him for being so unfit. Not that he's _actually_ unfit, it's just the stairs, of course.

They do finally make it up the six flights to Phil's flat, and Phil's glad he's managed to keep his breathing to a somewhat normal rate. He's just fitting his key in the lock when he realizes he's got no idea where this is going - _technically_ he supposes it'll be like earlier, and like every other one-night-stand he's had, but...he's not sure that's what he wants.

He pushes the door open anyway.

"Nice place," Dan adds the offhand comment once Phil's flicked on the light; it is pretty nice, he supposes, and he turns to offer Dan some form of thanks. Except Dan's not looking at the flat, he's quite focused on Phil, gaze dark and lips parted just slightly and Phil's not entirely sure what he'd been thinking to do a moment ago.

Instead, he lets his eyes drift across Dan's frame, from the soft lines of his jaw down his throat and the expanse of his chest, then lower, taking a full minute to properly appreciate the fit of Dan's jeans - sure, he’s already seen what's underneath them, but he's allowed to appreciate the wrapping on a present, isn't he?

Slowly - _very_ slowly so Dan can properly say no if he wants to - Phil steps forward until he's backed Dan up against the door, until his wings flatten behind him and Phil's worried he's pushed too far.

Except Dan's _right there_ , chest flush up against his and warm and _hot_ , matching the feeling in Phil's stomach; there's hardly a moment's hesitation from Dan before he's leaning forward, letting his eyes drift shut, a silent invitation for Phil to do the same.

So he does, and tries to push down that tiny feeling in his chest - the one that wants _more_ , and not just more of what they had earlier - in favor of focusing on his lips against Dan's, on the things he _knows_ he wants right now, the easy things: he wants Dan's lip between his teeth, so he takes it, tugs gently, and Dan leans closer. He wants to feel Dan's skin on his, so he slides his hands up Dan's waist and under his shirt, and Dan pushes against Phil until he's moved back.

" _Fuck_ ," Dan breathes out the moment they're separated, already lifting his shirt over his head without any extra prompting, and Phil only loses himself for a moment in the smooth expanse of his chest, the bared curves of his collarbone and shoulders matched and framed perfectly by the fluttering stretch of his wings behind him.

And then Phil's back, fully focused and tugging his own shirt over his head, and he refuses to let himself get lost in the things he isn't sure about just yet - he returns to what he knows, what he's confident he wants, as he presses himself back against Dan and into the door behind him with a soft thump.

" _Bed_ ," Phil manages between teeth and tongues and lips that mix in the most intoxicating way, and Dan nods and hums out something Phil's fairly certain counts as an agreement.

He lets his hands slide from Dan's waist down until he's staring at Dan's chest and gripping the back of his thighs, then he lifts him up in one unbelievably smooth movement - seriously, he knows he's done it before, but it'd be just his luck to let the spark of nerves in his chest get to him and make him botch the whole thing.

Dan sucks in a breath in the seconds before Phil pins him back against the door with his hips and lets his mouth roam Dan's throat; really, it's just to adjust his grip on Dan's ass, which earns him a breathy hum in his ear, but he's more than glad for the time to let his teeth graze the sensitive skin of Dan's throat and leave fresh marks over the still-pink ones from earlier.

Until his arms start to ache, just the slightest bit, and he makes a silent vow to himself that he'll _really_ start working out so he can do this again, maybe for longer next time. And then he's wondering about a 'next time', one with _Dan_ , preferably, and that's dragging up all those things he's not really ready to think about right now.

Fortunately, Dan's gotten to clawing at his back, scraping nails just beside the joints of his wings - _those_ may not be all that sensitive, but the rest of his skin absolutely is, and he's unable to stop the shiver that tracks down his spine at the sensation.

And then he's back in the moment, pulling Dan away from the door and relishing the way he clings tighter, pulls himself closer to Phil and tucks his head into the crook of Phil's neck; the warm breaths against his skin, far too fast and far too intoxicating, leave Phil aching for more, for a proper place and some proper privacy and a proper opportunity to leave Dan moaning his name again.

Because _fuck_ , that'd been something. More than something, though that's digging into feelings he doesn't need to worry about yet, not when his bedroom's only just through the open door and he can lay Dan on the bed and-

"Ah- _ah_ shit," Dan says into his neck, and it's only then Phil realizes he's not been all that careful of Dan's wings - nor has Dan been all that careful to keep them tucked in, apparently, though he pulls them tight the moment they smack against the door frame.

"Sorry! Sorry," Phil rushes out, trying to decide if he ought to check that Dan's okay first or get him through the door, but his arms have started a rebellion and he ends up settling for the latter, dropping Dan heavily to the bed and sort of hovering over him, lip caught between his teeth as he searches the pristine white wings for any damage.

"They're _fine,_ Phil," Dan grumbles under his breath, " _come back_." And that's all it takes, really - Dan asking for him - and he's leaning in further, until his lips find Dan's and his hands find bare skin to cling to.

Phil's careful, though, not pushing Dan back into the bed the way he had at the club - for all Dan's assurances he's alright, Phil can't help but worry he'll unintentionally do some harm. Instead, he lets his arms wrap Dan's waist, pulling him close into his chest but keeping them both upright, wings extended back behind them and Dan's safely free of any accidental contact.

In spite of his concerns - and the distraction of Dan's mouth against his, biting and sucking at his lip - Phil's increasingly tempted to reach out and trail his fingers through Dan's wing; it's only in part to feel the silky smooth feathers, he's far more intrigued by the way Dan had reacted last time, the way it'd worked him up and left him moaning under Phil.

Except he can't get the image of Dan flinching away from Derek's touch from his mind - it'd been almost the same way he'd done it with Phil, the first time, and the idea that he might've made Dan feel the same way that _Derek_ had leaves a gross feeling in his stomach.

"Phil?" Dan leans back just slightly, enough to breathe Phil's name in the space between them, and it brings everything back into focus - namely, the fact that Phil's not moved much since the idea of touching Dan's wings again had crept into his mind. Dan seems to have noticed.

"Sorry, just got-"

"If you don't want-" Dan says at the same time, gaze drifting to a spot beside Phil. Even in the dimmer lighting of his bedroom, Phil can see the blush on Dan's cheek, the way he's pursed his lips, like he's got a sour taste in his mouth but he's pretending he doesn't.

" _No_ , no, I really- I really want, uh, this," Phil manages to say, but his voice betrays him as his thoughts drift to ideas of what ' _this_ ' might actually mean, and he has to remind himself that _right now_ , all he means is whatever this night will be with Dan. That's something he knows he wants for sure.

Dan's silent for a long moment in which Phil's eyes decide to betray him as well, drifting from Dan's face and over to the smooth lines of white framing Dan's bare shoulders. And before Phil can reign in his wayward thoughts and muscles, Dan glances back up and most _definitely_ catches him staring.

"I told you, you can touch them," Dan says, voice low, and his words make Phil turn, refocus his attention; Dan bites his lip and dips his head, just enough that he's looking up at Phil through those thick lashes, and Phil's cock twitches against the confines of his jeans. Suddenly, he can't quite remember why they're still wearing so many clothes.

And then he's mentally backtracking, because Dan _said_ he could, but he said that earlier and it'd been so _painfully_ obvious how he'd not wanted Derek to touch them.

"But earlier, with Derek..." Phil's not entirely sure how to phrase it without letting on to his insecurities, without outright saying he's worried he'd crossed a line and Dan hadn't stopped him, because what if Dan's just saying what Phil wants to hear? He may be having a bit of a crisis about what he _does_ want with Dan, but Phil's quite certain that Dan lying to him is not on that list.

"What, the sleazy guy from the club?" Dan leans a bit further back, resting on his elbows and stretching those gorgeous wings out further, draping them across the bed; briefly, Phil wonders what exactly that feels like, to have such sensitive wings. "I didn't want him to touch them." Then he shrugs, and the movement refocuses Phil on Dan's shoulders, though the draw of his wings feels magnetic, tugging at his gaze until he's captivated by them again.

"If I haven't made it obvious yet, Phil, I _do_ want _you_ to touch them," Dan says, and Phil glances back to his face again - mentally cursing his inability to stay focused now that he's got the idea in his head - to find Dan's brows lifted, and apparently that's all the invitation Phil's minimal willpower needs.

He leans forward to trace his finger across the top, then out until he can't reach any further; Dan doesn't flinch away from the moderately unintrusive touch, though Phil's more than tempted to properly run his fingers through the feathers like he had earlier, to feel the soft edges against his skin but more to feel Dan shiver under him, to hear the sounds Phil wants to draw from his throat.

And that's another solid thing he knows he wants, so he turns back to watch Dan's expression as he slides his hand lower, down until he's combing through the feathers; it's exactly what Phil had hoped for, or maybe better: Dan's eyelids flutter shut as he exhales a breath and leans further back onto his elbows. And Phil can't decide if he's imagining it or not, but he's fairly certain Dan's pressed his hips further up into where Phil's straddling him, and the thought alone makes heat pool in Phil's stomach.

"It's good?" Phil asks, more for that added reassurance than because anything Dan's done has actually _suggested_ some kind of discomfort. Or perhaps his only discomfort is the same as Phil's: they're both still wearing jeans.

”Yeah, Phil, it's _really_ fucking good, can we-" he breaks off, then, letting out a shuddered breath as Phil drags his hand back against the feathers - he'd done it before and earned quite a reaction, and he's left sucking in a breath himself when Dan's hips grind up into his.

At which point, Phil decides he's quite done with having so many layers between them. He drags his fingers back across Dan's wing until he meets skin, then trails them down his chest and stomach to the button of Dan's jeans.

A part of him wants to stop, to tease a bit more, to play with Dan, but he'd done that earlier. And - he hopes - he'll get to do it again. Right now, though, he lets whatever primal temptation take over and undo Dan's jeans and slide them down his thighs along with his pants. If Dan's at all surprised at the quick turn in events - or perhaps the quick _succession_ , this is absolutely the direction they'd been headed in - he doesn't show it aside from sucking in a breath the moment his cock meets the cool air.

Phil makes quick work of his own clothes, then, and strokes himself a couple times as he takes in the sight of Dan beneath him. _Again_.

But he did this earlier, and he pushes past the silly desire to stare and properly appreciate the soft lines of Dan's body and the way they flow perfectly up across his shoulders, expand out to his wings. No, he'd much rather show his appreciation a different way.

" _Phil_ ," Dan whines when Phil steps back instead of moving forward, when he goes around to his bedside table and pulls the top drawer open. They'd been quite lacking on lube earlier, not that Dan had complained, but now they've got it and there's no reason not to use it.

Dan's eyes have locked on Phil - on his cock, he notices, and his own wings arch from his shoulders a bit higher at the attention - so he makes a show of rolling on the condom. And then Dan's up on his knees on the bed, gaze flicking between Phil's face and the floor as he chews on his lip.

"Can I..." he says after a long moment, one where Phil's holding totally still, trying his best not to make a wrong move. Whatever that might be. Dan clearly wants something, and Phil's not even sure what it is but he's already prepared to agree. And he's not entirely sure how he feels about that, so he shoves it in the back of his mind and focuses on Dan. "Could I maybe....ride you? Instead?" Dan's voice drops low, like they might be overheard even though there's literally nobody else here, but Phil sucks in a breath.

He's almost a little annoyed they didn't think of it earlier - a perfect way to keep from hurting Dan's sensitive wings - but then, Phil supposes, he wouldn't have had the opportunity to play with Dan a little, like he usually would.

And then he's thinking about 'usually' and how Dan hasn't really fit _any_ of his 'usually', and Phil realizes he's not been _at all_ like his 'usual' self since they left the club.

" _Demanding_ , angel boy," Phil pulls out the pet name along with a smirk, and he's unreasonably pleased at the way it makes Dan blush, makes him flex his wings behind him; Phil doesn't miss the moment Dan reaches toward his own cock, like he might pay it some much needed attention, but he's almost more intrigued when Dan pulls back, rests his hand at his own waist instead.

"Please?" Dan's voice comes out low and soft, and Phil tilts his head like he's thinking about it, as if he's not already drunk on the idea of Dan riding him, his wings arched high behind him and fluttering every time he'd sink down - even the thought makes his cock twitch, though Dan doesn't seem to notice, so Phil twists his lips and pretends to give it another few seconds of consideration.

"Up," Phil commands, finally, and Dan doesn't hesitate before crawling off the bed and standing beside him, waiting for his next instruction with slightly parted lips and wide eyes. Phil takes his place, laying back and letting his own wings spread out across the bed - again, he's struck by how strange it must be to _not_ be able to do this, to be so sensitive that simply laying down would hurt.

He pops the lid on the lube and spreads it generously over his cock, and he watches Dan track the movement and lick his lips; Phil does his best to pretend it's not intoxicating, that he's not so far gone already. That he's not this affected, that he's not desperate for more of Dan after having had him, what, not an hour ago?

"Can I?" Dan asks after far too long has passed, because Phil can't stop staring, and it's a war just to still his hand; the only reason he does is he knows what comes next, he can picture the scene in his head of Dan poised over him, sinking down slowly. And _god_ he wants that.

In place of words - which, Phil's quite certain, would not come out properly anyway - he nods, and Dan crawls back onto the bed, eyes fixed on Phil's cock the whole way over. And then it's exactly like Phil had imagined, Dan hovering just over him, and his gaze flicks up to meet Phil's.

Again, all Phil can do is nod, the muscles in his abdomen tensing in anticipation; objectively, he knows _exactly_ what this feels like, but he sucks in a breath and holds it anyway. Until Dan lines himself up, slides slowly down, and it's tight and hot and Phil's left blowing out a low breath that gets dangerously close to a moan, dangerously close to letting Dan know just how incredible this feels.

Not that he doesn't want to, but he's worried if he starts, he won't be able to stop, won't be able to keep his mouth shut, and then what if something slips out? Something he's not ready to say, may _never_ be ready to say. Or something that scares Dan off?

So Phil keeps his thoughts to himself and digs his fingers into Dan's hips, holding him still and keeping himself buried deep in him; then it's exactly like Phil imagined, Dan's wings fluttering out behind him, stretching and flexing before he pulls them tight behind him, and that paired with the intoxicating sensation of Dan clenching around him is more than enough to turn Phil's breathing ragged, to make his heart pound in his chest.

His gaze drifts, then, from the arch of wings behind Dan's back and across to his face, only to find him staring down at Phil with wide brown eyes.

"Can I?" Dan's voice comes out high and tight and so clearly wrecked that Phil has to resist the urge to buck up into him, to get more words and pretty noises falling from his lips. But the idea of Dan riding him floats through his head and he _really_ wants that, so he holds himself still and slides his hands down Dan's thighs, catching him just behind the knee.

"Impatient much?" Phil smirks through the words, ignoring his own burning impatience in favor of watching Dan's lips part, watching the flush crawl up from his chest to his cheeks and settle there; the deep pink stands out in spite of the dim lighting in the room. Dan dips his head, then, and bites his lip, and Phil decides he's just about done resisting urges.

He sits up abruptly, sucking in a breath at the change and the feeling of Dan around him, the feeling of Dan leaning _into_ his chest instead of away. Then he takes Dan's lips between his teeth just like Dan had been doing just a moment ago and grins at the way Dan presses himself closer, lets himself sink a little deeper. It's intimate and hot and maybe a little too much right now but Phil suddenly can't get enough, can't be bothered to reign in his wayward thoughts of wanting Dan again, like this and a hundred other ways and _maybe_ in some ways that have nothing to do with sex.

"Go on, then," Phil mumbles against Dan's mouth, more to replace his transient, unclear thoughts with present, visceral feelings that definitely exist. Dan exhales a shaky breath, and Phil lets himself lean back just enough to watch as Dan's eyes drift shut, as he lifts himself slowly before sinking back down; it's faster the second time, and Dan's hands slide up Phil's arms and around his neck, bringing himself a little closer, giving himself that bit more leverage to properly _ride_ Phil.

And Phil's _lost_ , totally, to the sensations - normally he'd be aware, enough to maintain some control, to say what he wants and smirk as his partner does what they're told, but he can't even _think_ straight for all the breathy noises in his ear, the whispered moans of Phil's name, the intoxicating slide of Dan around him, never losing pace.

Finally - _finally_ \- after Phil's managed to catalogue and appreciate each of the incredible things happening at this exact moment, he lets his own hands drift up from Dan's trembling thighs and over his ass; he gives it a brief squeeze, though it's not his final destination, and Dan makes another noise into the crook of Phil's neck - honestly, he isn't even sure if he was the direct cause of it, not with the sounds Dan's been making from the moment he started. And there are _lots_ of them, enough that Phil wants to hear every single one a thousand times, until he knows them all by heart, can hear them running through his head whenever he wants.

Or, he supposes, he could simply have _Dan_ whenever he wants, if that's something Dan wants as well.

" _Fuck_ , you're so good for me, angel boy," Phil leans closer to whisper in Dan's ear, a desperate attempt to refocus his brain - he doesn't know what they are, what this is, but he doesn't need to be thinking about it right now. Not when the smooth skin of Dan's neck is just two inches from his lips, from his teeth and tongue, and when the pristine arches of Dan's wings are calling his name, begging his fingers to run through the soft feathers.

So he starts simple: his hands slide the rest of the way up Dan's back until they've found the joints of his wings just beneath his shoulder blades, and he uses the same moment to sink his teeth into Dan's neck, not hard, but just enough to make Dan shiver, make him lose his rhythm and choke out a low moan.

Then he works his way up properly to the feathered bit, and he has to hold back a sound in his throat at how _soft_ it feels, at how unexpectedly intimate it is all of a sudden to have Dan pressed against him, to be pressed _inside_ Dan, and to have his hands trailing across the wings Dan had been so protective of.

This time, instead of forgetting, Phil lets himself drown in it - and Dan, and the way Dan's picked up speed, rocking onto Phil with a wicked new ferocity as he whimpers something in Phil's ear that sounds a hell of a lot like _don't stop_ , something Phil has no intention of doing anyway.

He's not entirely sure when, exactly, he passes the point of no return - it might've had something to do with the way Dan's hands wound up into his hair or the way Dan had curved his wings forward to give Phil better access or the way he'd begun pressing hot, wet kisses to Phil's lips, or maybe it had been some combination; Phil's heart hammers in his chest, and he can feel it, that tight knot in his stomach begging him to let go, but Dan's still riding him hard and fast and Phil wants to get him there too. He _needs_ to.

He slides a hand between them - the one not currently focused on tugging lightly at the feathers of Dan's wings - intent on helping Dan along with a hand on his cock. Except Dan stills the moment Phil comes in contact, and the sudden absence of stimulation sets Phil's head spinning.

"No, no, no," Dan mumbles between heavy breaths into Phil's neck, "wanna come without- I don't..." he trails off, then, and rests his head on Phil's shoulder, apparently convinced Phil understood - which, to be fair, he had, but he's a little surprised. And, for some reason, all that more determined to get Dan to his orgasm first; he's not used to being presented a challenge, but he's sure the breathy noises and whines from Dan's lips mean he's doing _something_ right.

Frankly, he's yet to have someone he was _this_ determined to please. He pulls his hand back and slides it up Dan's chest, pausing at his nipple to run his thumb over it, to see what reaction he might earn, what else he can do.

"Ah- I- no, no, that's- my _wings_ ," Dan grumbles, shifting his hips until he's back to fucking down on Phil, though he's going a bit slower than before - the break had been almost _welcome_ , though, giving Phil a moment to pull himself back from the edge. But as it stands, his brain still isn't fully functional, and it takes him a second to understand Dan's request.

And then Dan's wings arch closer, a semicircle around them both that gives Phil near-uninhibited access to every single feather, and he sucks in a breath before sliding his hands back across the full expanse of the wings. Dan shudders, his rhythm stumbling again, but he regains it far more quickly, slamming himself hard onto Phil in a way that _really_ doesn't help Phil's tentative level of control over his impending orgasm.

" _Fuck_ , Phil, I'm- _ah,_ so close- _fuck._ " The words falling from Dan's lips come out more and more as curses, and if Phil had any capacity for it, he might smirk at the way Dan's coming undone - except he's feeling just as incapacitated, just as drunk on Dan as Dan seems to be on him. And it's _surreal_ how different it feels from the one night stands he's had before.

Fortunately, there's no actual need to pull himself from his own thoughts, because Dan's hips stutter and his back arches forward as he comes hard across their chests with keening moans of Phil’s name in his ear; it takes all of a few seconds before Phil follows, every bit of pent-up desire exploding out as he fucks hard into Dan. His hands fist the feathers of Dan's wings perhaps a bit too tight, but if Dan minds, he doesn't say.

Or maybe he can't say, if the way he's leaned up against Phil is anything to go by. Hot, too-fast breaths hit Phil's shoulder, the only thing he's able to focus on as he comes down from his own high, and everything feels surprisingly _soft_ in the wake of the harsh sounds from Dan's lips, the tight clench of his ass around Phil's cock, the nails clawing at Phil's back that he's only just noticed now that they've stopped.

Dan's wings flutter and tug briefly back against Phil's grip, then, and Phil lets go without hesitation; they fold back tight behind Dan, just out of reach, and Phil wonders for a moment if he's done something wrong, been _too_ rough without meaning to.

But Dan's breaths turn into a gentle sigh and he lifts himself slowly off of Phil, and he doesn't really get a chance to think about where he might've screwed up.

"Bathroom?" Dan asks with a grimace, and Phil glances at the door across from his bed; in moments, Dan's off the mattress and Phil's left watching his ass as he shuffles slowly over to the door, rummages around in the space like it's his own. There's a pang in Phil's chest at the idea of that, of Dan belonging here. Of _anybody_ belonging here, he tries to tell himself. And then Dan's back.

"Will this do?" He lifts a cloth and Phil manages a nod, then Dan's gone again and the tap turns on.

A minute later, Dan's back, and Phil finally remembers that, oh yeah, he ought to be getting at least _somewhat_ cleaned up; the condom finds itself knotted and tossed in the waste bin beside Phil's bed, then Dan settles himself over Phil, cloth in hand and poised over Phil's chest.

"Can I?" It's the same words from earlier, but softer, more cautious. Except the wide brown eyes haven't changed, and they spark something in Phil's chest he can't really focus on. Instead of clever words - ones that've all left his mind, apparently - he nods, and Dan takes the cloth to his chest, cleaning him with slow, gentle movements. It's soothing in the kind of way that makes Phil want to fall asleep. Except Dan hasn't left yet.

And Phil doesn't want him to.

"Stay the night?" The words escape Phil's mouth before he can stop himself, before he can properly consider the implications. And then he decides that the implications can go screw themselves, because Dan's hand pauses and his eyes flick up to meet Phil's and his lip curls up in the barest hint of a smile and it lights fireworks in Phil's chest.

"Okay."


	3. Part 3

Dan's pretty sure he's lost his mind. Or maybe he never had one to begin with. Both sound like reasonable thoughts.

For some reason, he's agreed to spend the night at a random demon's house, a guy he only just met a few hours ago. And has fucked _twice_ in that time. So then, he supposes, if Phil had any intent on doing him harm, he's had a few opportunities to do just that.

He's still surprised that Phil had even invited him to stay. For a guy who 'does this often', Phil seems far more caring than Dan had expected. But maybe that's just how he is. Dan sort of hopes he’s an exception for Phil, that he’s _special_ somehow, but he feels that might be wishful thinking.

For a while, these thoughts are all that run through Dan's head - why _Dan_ , is this normal for Phil, should Dan pretend it's normal for _him_ as well, and why the _fuck_ is he still so awake after two more-than-incredible orgasms in one evening?

He shifts in the bed again, a little closer to Phil but not _too_ close, and flexes his wings out another inch behind him toward the edge of the mattress. The duvet doesn’t cover them - he wouldn't be able to sleep like that - but they rest heavily on the side of the bed Dan's relegated himself to, and he stares across the pillow at the features of the guy he's just hooked up with. A second time. In a single night.

Phil's eyes have shut, of course, and his breathing comes out even and gentle, unlike it had before, when he'd been gasping out low sounds every time Dan had slid down on him, and _fuck_ now he's getting worked up again. Which is rather inconvenient, as he'd really prefer to be sleeping.

A weird, terrified part of Dan wants to slip from under the covers and sneak out the door because _this isn't normal_ , things like this just don't _happen,_ but he also really _doesn't_ want to do that, because he's quite enjoying just watching Phil sleep. As if that's a much more normal thought to have. But he can't very well turn over and face _away_ from Phil, he's used to a bed to himself and his wings have a mind of their own; Phil will end up suffocating on a face full of feathers at some point, and then he'll _definitely_ be kicking Dan out on his ass.

And frankly, Dan's ass is a bit sore already, he doesn't need to add to it.

He shifts again, just an inch closer to Phil so he can spread his wings out a bit further; they dangle off the edge, the joints aching without any support, and Dan can't decide if that's worse than pulling them into his back for the rest of the night. And then he's _really_ wondering if he shouldn't just sneak out, because he's fairly certain he won't get any sleep _at all_ at this rate.

After another _very_ extended period of staring at Phil and lamenting his obnoxiously sensitive wings - _Phil_ seems to have no issue keeping his squished against his back - Dan ultimately decides it's worth getting a couple hours of sleep and risking being kicked out for accidental suffocation by feather. He scoots himself back until he's at the edge of the bed, watching Phil very carefully for any signs he's woken up.

But Phil stays still, his breathing slow and even, so Dan does his best to lift himself up, turn under the covers, and tuck his wings in - he'll wait to spread them out until he's sure he's got the space. It'll still be cramped, but at least he'll have better support, and the weight of his wings won't be liable to make him fall out of the bed at some point during the night - the last thing he needs is to utterly embarrass himself in front of Phil.

Once he's properly settled on his other side and as close to the edge of the mattress as he can be, he lets his wings extend out behind him inch by inch; he keeps a glacial pace, hyperaware of the very tips and waiting for the slightest brush against something solid.

The moment he feels it, he pulls back just a bit, holds his breath as Phil stirs behind him and exhales low and slow. For a moment, Dan's sure he's woken him, but Phil doesn't move, doesn't speak, and silence fills the space around them.

Dan's muscles slowly unclench, relax, and he lets his own breathing even out to match the pace of Phil's, and then sleep comes more easily than he expected.

\--------------------

There is _something_ touching his wing.

It's moving in broad, slow strokes, and Dan's barely-awake brain can't comprehend what might be doing that, or _how_ , given he's home alone in his bed and-

Except that's wrong, he's _not_ home, and he's _not_ alone, and nerves spark inside his chest in a completely different way now; sure, he's not being potentially attacked or whatever his sleep-addled brain had been imagining was going on when he'd been awoken by a touch on his wings, but he's still _here_ , with _Phil_ , and that brings a wave of anxiety he'd not been expecting.

He lets his eyes drift open until he's staring hard at the blank wall across from him, doing his best to focus on the hand - and he's quite sure now that it's a hand - sliding gently down the length of his wing.

It's not that it feels _bad -_ quite the opposite, actually - it's just unusual. He rarely _ever_ lets anyone touch his wings, and only those he trusts implicitly, but...he hadn't exactly been _opposed_ when Phil had first laid a hand on them yesterday...

Fuck that, it'd felt _incredible,_ especially with Phil buried inside him, the extra stimulation...

And he really needs to get a grip on himself - it's not even _erotic_ right now, the feeling he gets from Phil's hand petting down the lay of the feathers. It's just... _nice_. Comforting. Soothing, actually. Enough that Dan debates pretending he'd never woken up, letting the warm sensation spreading from his wings through to his chest lull him back to sleep. At least Phil hasn't tried to kick him out. In a way, he's deciding he quite loves Phil touching his wings.

But, at the same time, he sort of hates that they exist - he suddenly wants nothing more than to snuggle back into Phil's chest, but he can't very well have that _and_ have Phil running a hand over his wing. He can't even move back without the discomfort of scrunching his wings up even more than they already are.

Which is how he ends up huffing out a disgruntled breath, and then desperately wishing he could suck it back in the moment Phil's hand stills.

"Dan?" Phil's voice comes out soft, low, a little hoarse, like he'd only just woken up. And as much as Dan would like to pretend he's still fast asleep, Phil’s hand still hasn’t moved, like he’s waiting for a response.

"Hm?" A part of Dan wants to turn around, but that requires _so much effort_ and he's more likely to smack Phil in the face with a wing than make a smooth go of it, so he stares in mildly frustrated silence at the wall.

"Oh, I didn't mean to wake you, sorry," Phil's hand disappears along with the warmth.

"You didn't," Dan lies, but there's a huff of laughter behind him and he can practically _imagine_ the tired smirk on Phil's face.

"Right, you just _happened_ to wake up the same exact time I touched your wing. You can just tell me not to, y'know," Phil mumbles, then there's a rustle of the covers and movement in the mattress like Phil's shifting.

" _Fine_ , you woke me," Dan grumbles, "but I didn't want you to stop." He decides it's okay to say this when he's staring at the wall, and maybe facing this direction hadn't been such a bad idea after all. He's not sure what his confidence levels would be like had he been facing _Phil._

In place of words, there’s a weighty silence, and Dan almost takes it back, tells Phil ‘never mind’ and does his best to pretend he’s not utterly mortified at having asked. But then the warm pressure of Phil's hand returns to his wing in slow, gentle movements, and he lets it soothe his spike of anxiety.

"That's okay?" Phil asks after a while, after Dan's nearly drifted back to sleep, even though a hand on his wing should really be making him _more_ awake and on edge. He hums out a confirmation, though.

"'s nice," he adds, burrowing his head into the pillow and trying not to be disappointed it isn't Phil's shoulder. In fact, he tries very very hard for the next several minutes to keep at bay the frustration that he can't have _exactly_ what he wants: to be pressed back into Phil, to have Phil’s arm wrapped around his torso while the other hand traces lazy lines down his wing. Except he can’t have that, he probably can't even have Phil tomorrow, or another day, or maybe ever again.

Phil, as he said himself, does this quite often - Dan doubts he’ll be asked to hang around.

Dan doesn't mean to, but his wing flinches away under the next brush of Phil's hand. And that's enough to give Phil pause, apparently.

"Are you sure?" Phil's words hang in the air around them, a too-late response to Dan's answer ages and ages ago, and Dan's tired brain wonders how exactly he's actually meant to respond to that - _yes_ he's sure it feels nice, that's easy, but is it okay? When he knows that this - whatever it is between them - has an expiration date? Of that, he's not entirely sure.

"I like how it feels," he decides. "I don't like that it has to stop." This bit he tacks on with a mumble, fully burying his face in the pillow and squeezing his eyes shut; a long silence follows, long enough that Dan wonders if Phil's just fallen back asleep. That would be far less mortifying.

Dan nearly jumps out of his skin when Phil's hand returns, combing through the feathers in slow, gentle strokes.

"I can't do it forever, though." His voice sounds just as sleep-affected as it had earlier, though the tone comes off as much more alert, and Dan wonders if they're having the same not-conversation right now.

"A little longer?" He knows his words come out pleading and he's not exceptionally proud of that, but he's sleepy and comfy and he figures he can probably play it off in the morning if he has to.

He hopes he doesn't.

"A little longer."

\--------------------------

This time, Dan wakes to a finger poking into his shoulder blade, and he rustles his wings against the touch.

"Ah- pfft, ugh, _Dan_ ," Phil's voice burrows its way into Dan's ears, and between that and the light invading the edges of his closed eyes, he does the only thing that properly makes sense.

He shoves his face into the pillow and tries to go back to sleep.

" _Dan_ , you're sticking your wing right in my- _ow._ " There's a shove, then, and Dan pulls his wings in on instinct, away from the contact. "Sorry, I didn't-"

"'s fine," Dan mumbles into the pillow. He's becoming... _unusually_ comfortable with Phil touching his wings.

"Well aren't you gonna get up, then?" Phil pokes his shoulder again, and the temptation to stick his wing right back in Phil's face, or wherever, is suddenly _overwhelming_.

"Mmm, no," he says instead, curling in on himself and squeezing his eyes shut. Except now he's _properly_ awake, the kind of awake that says he'll just end up laying in bed frustrated for an hour if he tries to fall back asleep, but he's curious what Phil's reaction will be.

Something about not having to _see_ Phil makes it much easier to test his limits.

"Not even if I make pancakes?" Phil sounds so _genuine_ that Dan has to suppress a giggle - he doesn't manage to contain the smile, though, so he shoves his face further into the pillow with the hopes of hiding it.

"'m just gonna stay here, I think," Dan says, and the bed shifts behind him in a way that suggests Phil's moving closer. Then there's a slight pressure under Dan's wings and he lifts them up until he’s resting almost fully on his chest so he doesn't have to exert much effort.

"Mind if I stay as well?" Phil asks, low and husky in Dan's ear and suddenly pressed up against him - his side, really, and his wings settle on top of Phil as he tucks himself into the space between Dan's wing and the bed.

Dan sucks in a breath both at the contact and the implication that Phil _wants_ to be here, _wants_ to stay in bed with him for a while.

"'s _your_ bed," Dan mumbles in spite of the grin making his cheeks ache. Phil just chuckles into his shoulder, presses a soft kiss there; a hand snakes over his hip, sliding slowly across the skin and down to Dan's cock.

Which, up until a moment ago, hadn't been all that hard, but now blood rushes south as Phil traces his fingers there, as he sucks lightly on Dan's neck.

"It is," Phil says after a while, once Dan's all but forgotten what he'd been responding to in the wake of a hot tongue and warm fingers and the need to push back into Phil. "I like you in it."

"I like you in _me_ ," Dan says before he can stop himself, and heat rushes to his cheeks. As if heat hasn't turned his entire body into a splotchy pink mess already. As if Phil could even _tell_ that his face had joined the party, what with it pressed firmly into the pillow. Phil does chuckle into Dan's shoulder again, though, and Dan wonders if it's possible to just get absorbed into the bed and disappear completely. That would be far less mortifying.

"I like being in you, too," Phil says after a long moment, his words accompanied by the slow stroke of his hand over Dan's cock. "But maybe this is okay for now?" He adds like he's not sure, but Dan just nods into the pillow and lets out a shuddered breath when Phil runs his thumb over the slit.

The whole thing is slow and sleepy and warm and Dan's not entirely sure when he started but his hips are canting into Phil's hand, and he can feel his wings flutter behind him, unsure how to handle the stimulation now that they're tilted at this odd angle.

Without being asked, Phil runs a hand up through the feathers, a feeling Dan's becoming increasingly addicted to; he thinks he mumbles something about being close, but he's almost certain the words get lost in the pillow.

" _Good_ ," Phil growls in his ear, "I want you to come for me, angel boy." And that does it, those words, that low voice, the fingers sliding between his feathers and tugging gently, they send him over the edge and coming hard into Phil's hand; it's the kind of just-woken-up sleepy orgasm that leaves Dan thoroughly spent.

He's not even fully aware when Phil leaves - nor when he returns - he's just sort of drifting in a half-awake state; eventually, he feels a hand combing through his hair, a soft kiss pressed to the side of his head.

"Come on, angel boy, time to get up," Phil says, and Dan can hear the laughter in his voice without even opening his eyes. Because he's not getting up, not after _that_ , so there's absolutely no reason to deal with the bright light nor to give Phil the impression that he might be moving any time soon.

When Phil seems to have gotten the message that Dan's not going anywhere, he huffs out a breath and shoves at Dan's shoulder, then the weight disappears from the bed. It's not til the door creaks that Dan squints one eye open, just to see if Phil's really leaving.

"You're predictable, angel boy," Phil giggles from the doorway, where he's stood in only a pair of sweatpants and grinning at Dan. "I'm making pancakes, get up so I can make you some." He's just smiling, a stupidly genuine smile that makes Dan's chest hurt, and he's torn between wanting to bury his head back in the pillow and wanting to do whatever Phil asks.

He ends up opting for the latter, even though his legs wobble beneath him when he stands from the bed.

"And _please_ put some- here." Phil steps over to his dresser and pulls a drawer open, producing another pair of sweatpants and tossing it to Dan. "Otherwise the pancakes'll probably burn." Dan just arches a brow, but he does as he's told and tugs the sweatpants on, pleased at how comfy they are.

"You'll burn them?" Dan asks absently as he follows Phil from the bedroom, gaze fixed on the black leather of Phil's wings in front of him. They fold a bit differently than his do, Dan notices, and he reaches a finger up to trace along the membrane.

Which, of course, is exactly the moment Phil decides to turn, and Dan's left pointing right at Phil's chest.

"You're quite distracting without any clothes on," Phil says with a smirk as he captures Dan's hand in the air, holds it still for a moment before using his grip to tug Dan into the kitchen. Dan's brain does its best to keep up, still cycling through the unexpected compliment by the time Phil releases his hand and sets to work pulling out ingredients.

It's not til he's turned the hob on that Dan's cheeks flush, just in time for Phil to turn again and offer a bit of a lopsided smile.

"You can touch mine too, y'know." And that _really_ sets the gears in Dan's head to grinding, and it requires Phil stretching his wing out to the side for Dan to realize what he'd meant. It’s only two steps before he's stood nearly chest to chest with Phil, then he lays his palm flat against the black plane of Phil's wing.

It's _smooth,_ and softer than he expected, and he follows the curve of one tendon down to where it ends. By the time he's glanced back up, Phil's just watching him with a hint of a smile on his lips, and Dan lets his hand drop back to his side.

"Pancakes?" He asks into the overwhelming silence, hoping to redirect this nonexistent conversation into something more tangible, something that involves less of Phil staring and smiling like _that_.

"Pancakes," Phil nods, but he's still grinning, and it takes him a full few seconds to actually turn around.

“Can I help?” Dan asks, following with hesitant steps as Phil mixes a few things, whisks them together, checks the heat of the pan. “Anything you want me to do?” He offers again after a beat of silence, suddenly overwhelmed by the awkward need to _do_ something, to not just stand there and wait.

“Actually,” Phil turns again, fixes Dan with a heavy gaze; his eyes drift down the length of Dan’s chest and back up in a slow, appreciative sweep, then his lip curls up in a smirk. “ _Actually_ , there are lots of things I want you to do,” Phil continues, his low tone going straight to Dan’s cock, “but right now, you can just stay there and let me make you breakfast.”

Dan’s brain short circuits, so he barely manages a wide-eyed nod as he watches Phil turn back around, as he listens to the sizzle of the batter being poured into the hot pan. And he does _not_ let himself think too hard on the fact that there’s _more_ Phil wants him to do. Or the fact that that implies Phil wants more of _Dan_. Maybe wants to see him again. 

He certainly does _not_ let his mind wander to strange, hopeful places as he watches the steam drift up from the plate Phil’s started stacking the pancakes on. He doesn’t think at all about coming back here, about getting to see the arch of Phil’s midnight-black wings some other morning in the future. He doesn’t think about waking up beside Phil in the middle of some other night, a warm hand against his wing that _shouldn’t_ be so comforting but definitely is.

Dan does, finally, let his brain start working again when Phil turns, plate full of pancakes in hand, and nearly runs right into him - the momentary side-stepping and fumbling and barely-catching-of-food happens so quickly that Dan has trouble keeping up until Phil’s pressed against his chest, feet planted either side of his, and holding a precariously balanced plate of pancakes just over the edge of the breakfast bar. He makes a point of setting it down, eyes wide and a soft breath of relief blowing from his lips and onto Dan’s.

“That was close.” Dan manages, attempting a laugh as he waits for Phil to pull away. Which he doesn’t.

“No, _this_ is close,” Phil giggles as he presses himself further into Dan’s chest, his lips dancing just over Dan’s. But then he _does_ lean back, and Dan finds himself chasing the contact, moving forward in a pathetic attempt to properly kiss Phil. He drops his gaze the moment Phil’s smirk widens, already trying and failing miserably to come up with an excuse for why he’d done that. Sure, he’s a little desperate, but he’s not about to _admit_ it.

But then Phil’s right there, a hand sliding to the back of Dan’s neck and pulling him in; his lips press against Dan’s, warm and gentle in a way he hadn’t expected. Granted, he hadn’t really expected Phil to press him back up against the breakfast bar for a morning makeout session at all. He hadn’t even expected there to _be_ a morning with Phil, not one that included pancakes and borrowed sweatpants and the slow, hot sliding of Phil’s tongue against his lip.

Dan lets his hands settle on Phil’s hips, something concrete for him to focus on in place of the swirling thoughts tempting him to worry about whatever possible future he could have with Phil.

“They’re gonna get cold,” Phil says against Dan’s mouth, barely breaking for a too-fast breath before he’s leaning back in, biting at Dan’s lip and pressing himself flush against him again. All Dan can manage, though, is a low hum that verges on a moan, the barest hint of friction from Phil against his cock already threatening to make him sound far too needy, far too desperate. 

In spite of his words, Phil clearly has no intent to stop; his hands slide down Dan’s chest and leave goosebumps in their wake, and his fingers slip under the loose waistband of Dan’s sweatpants a moment later. Dan does his best, really, to hold onto some semblance of control, but Phil grazes the skin just beside Dan’s cock, getting close but not nearly close enough, and Dan sucks in a breath.

“‘S not- _ah_ , not fair,” Dan grumbles the moment Phil leaves his mouth to suck lazy marks at his neck. He’s pretty sure he can feel the thinned lips of Phil’s smile pressed against the skin there.

“What?” He asks, tone dripping with false innocence as he traces a finger up the shaft of Dan’s cock, already hard and twitching with the need for proper friction. “Not my fault you get worked up so easy, angel boy.” Phil chuckles into his neck, and Dan shudders as he nips at the skin. 

“No, you already- I mean, I-” Dan’s sentence devolves into a moan when Phil slides his hand fully between them, gripping his cock and giving it a proper few strokes that completely blank Dan’s mind. For several seconds, it’s all he can do to keep his feet underneath him as Phil provides the same friction he had this morning, but-

“No, wait, wait,” Dan exhales a shaky breath along with the words, and Phil’s hand stills, then pulls away completely; Phil steps back with his brows scrunched. Briefly, Dan wonders why the _fuck_ he’d told Phil to wait, why he’d given any kind of impression he wanted Phil to stop. Except he _had_ , and there was a reason, he’s sure. It takes a moment of silence before it comes back to him, now that he’s lost the distraction of the dizzying pleasure of everything _Phil_ , but it does.

He grabs Phil’s hips before he can fully pull away, then swaps their positions with a not-very-smooth movement that he excuses in his head as a symptom of not being fully awake. Once Phil’s pressed up against the edge of the breakfast bar, he stares at Dan with wide eyes, but keeps his mouth shut, clearly waiting for Dan to speak. So he leans in close, letting his fingers play with the edge of Phil’s sweatpants.

“Your turn.” He says it low, right against Phil’s lips, but it ends up coming out more like a question than he’d intended; Phil just nods, gaze going dark as he smirks into Dan’s mouth, and Dan decides, at this point, he’d better just get on with it. He ducks his head into Phil’s neck, sucks and bites his way down and across Phil’s chest until his tongue finds the edge of Phil’s waistband and dips below it.

Up til this point, it’s been Phil in charge, and he’s been focused on Dan’s pleasure - and _fuck_ has Dan been into it - but he wants to do this for Phil, wants to show him exactly- well, fuck. He wants to show Phil _exactly_ what he’d be missing out on if this was the end, if they never saw each other again. It’s stupid and petty and maybe a little desperate, but Dan never really claimed _not_ to be any of those things.

Phil shudders against Dan’s grip and tongue, and he slips his fingers under the waistband of Phil’s pants and slides them down his thighs. Phil’s cock springs free, and Dan exhales a breath across it, already desperate for a taste.

So he indulges, licking a long, slow stripe up Phil’s length and swirling his tongue just around the tip, grinning at the way Phil’s breath hitches, at the way his fingers thread through Dan’s hair; Dan’s surprised to find them a little shaky, the grip a little tentative, but it’s incredibly intoxicating to know how strongly he’s affecting Phil.

He tries not to grin too wide, otherwise this’ll be a challenge - the only way he wants his lips stretched right now is around Phil’s cock. So he leans forward and does just that, sliding his mouth over the head and pressing his tongue into the slit, licking up the tiny bead of precome there and relishing the way Phil’s fingers tighten their grip, tugging at his hair now. 

For a minute, Dan just swirls his tongue around, teasing on purpose, winding Phil up and living for the breathy noises that make their way down to Dan, the way Phil’s hips shift just slightly, like he wants more but he’s holding back.

“ _Dan_ …” his name falls from Phil’s lips like a warning, low and a little needy, and Dan’s tempted to laugh, or to pop off and sit back on his heels and just smirk up at Phil; a part of him wants to see the desperation for himself, to see just how not-put-together Phil is right now. Because as hot as it’s been to have Phil in control, calm and suave and commanding, it’s even _hotter_ to know Dan can take him apart, maybe make him _beg_.

But his own cock throbs between his legs, a silent reminder that he should probably be a _little_ nice if he wants any kind of reciprocation; Dan doesn’t doubt for a second that Phil would enjoy torturing him a bit, getting him close and leaving him hanging, if he felt the need to pay Dan back for being a tease.

Besides, he _really fucking loves_ having Phil in his mouth.

He sinks down to the base of Phil’s cock, or as close as he can get, in one smooth move that leaves Phil moaning above him - it’s a sound verging on the same sort of growl he’d done last night, but maybe a little higher pitched, a little needier. Dan can’t get enough.

He keeps his pace slow at first, not to torture but more to get used to the feel, the _weight_ , of Phil, to get used to the stretch of his lips and the nudging at the back of his throat. But the moment he does, he brings his tongue back into the mix, curling it around the head when he pulls back or adding a little extra pressure here or there - the sounds falling from Phil’s lips are absolutely _sinful_.

And then he’s got to hold back a chuckle - a feat helped significantly by the fullness of Phil’s cock in his mouth - because Phil’s a _demon_ , so of _course_ it’d be sinful.

Phil’s fingers tighten, then, perhaps a bit more than they’d been before, and the small pricks of pain make Dan shudder, make his wings flex behind him. Absently, he palms himself through his sweatpants, which he realizes a moment too late was possibly a big mistake because now he can’t _stop_.

Nor can he focus, not properly, not with Phil shivering between his lips and barely holding back tiny thrusts that shove his cock just that little bit deeper into Dan’s throat, not with the hand Phil’s fisted in Dan’s hair, not with the delicious taste of his mouth around Phil, not with his own hand providing enough friction to get him worked up and maybe a bit desperate for _more_.

Okay, he’s _really_ fucking desperate for more.

And, as it’s becoming his favorite stimulation lately, he lifts his wings just enough that he thinks Phil could maybe get at them. But he doesn’t stop his pace - or his best approximation of one, now that he feels he’s likely just as gone as Phil - and just hopes Phil will get the message. 

The moment Phil’s free hand brushes his wing, he decides that was possibly the worst idea he’s had so far - he can’t even _think_ with one hand of Phil’s tightly fisted in his hair and his other trailing light, shaky touches down the span of his wing, but he’s still doing his best to keep those incredible sounds coming from Phil’s mouth.

“ _God,_ so good for me, Dan,” Phil says just then, “ _so close_.” It’s barely loud enough for Dan to hear, and mixed with breathy, low sounds, but it’s enough to keep Dan focused in spite of the coil in his stomach knotting tighter, begging him to let go. But he wants Phil to get there first. _Fuck_ , he really wants that.

So he does his best to pay attention, to start up the light pressure of his tongue on Phil’s length and over the head of his cock - a thing he’d not even realized he’d stopped doing - and Phil lets out a low groan, his hand stilling on Dan’s wing and his other pulling tight at Dan’s hair; it’s the only warning he gets before Phil thrusts forward and deep into Dan’s throat, unexpected but not unwelcome, and comes hard.

Dan swallows around him, hand pressed against his own cock like it’ll somehow help, like it’ll stave off the incredible feeling of Phil coming for him, _because_ of him, his mouth, his tongue. A tiny, self-satisfied little piece of his brain wants to smirk at the fact he’d made Phil feel this good, made him come in a matter of minutes, and hopefully given him another reason to want to see Dan again.

But he can’t really smirk at all, because his lips are still wrapped around Phil’s cock - although Phil’s gone lax against the breakfast bar, one hand resting gently on Dan’s head while the other resumes slow strokes of the top of his wing. Dan pulls off carefully, his lips and jaw aching, but he’s so fucking _close_ right now he’s not sure he cares.

He’s about to let himself properly focus, now, on the throbbing of his own cock - really, he just needs that little push over the edge, he knows - when Phil kneels in front of him; it sounds like Phil might’ve dropped down a little too hard, but he doesn’t get much time to consider it before Phil’s lips crash into his, before his hand is replaced with a much colder one, one that slips below the waistband of his borrowed sweatpants and sends a shiver up his spine from barely a touch.

Phil wastes no time, then, giving Dan the friction he’s been so desperately craving as he slides his hand over Dan’s length and licks into his mouth, bites at his lip - it’s too much, really, and Dan has a hard time properly absorbing the sensation of any one thing. There’s a half-formed thought in the back of his head that he might like Phil to add his wings to the mix, but it’s quickly eclipsed by the impending wave of pleasure he can feel about to break.

“ _Close,_ ” he manages to say against Phil’s mouth before he’s pressed back against it, and it only takes a few more strokes before he’s biting hard into Phil’s lip and letting high, keening moans escape from the back of his throat.

By the time Dan finally comes down from his high, he’s got his forehead leaned against Phil’s as he pants out heavy, uneven breaths. Phil doesn’t seem much better himself, if the light puffs of air that brush Dan’s face a little too frequently are anything to go by. 

“Hi,” Phil says, and his hands drift gently up and down Dan’s sides as his lip curls up in a smirk; Dan lets out a particularly heavy breath accompanied by a small smile that he hopes Phil will interpret as a laugh. None of this properly makes sense, this soft, careful, intimate moment where they’re both kneeling on the floor and drifting in this post-orgasm haze, so he figures he can laugh at it.

“Hello,” Dan says in return, and he can’t stop from staring into Phil’s wide blue eyes, can’t stop from trying to decipher what’s there, to apply some meaning where there probably isn’t any. He does his best to drag himself back down to reality, back to this plane of existence where he might hook up with random strangers and he might be a little too clingy, want a little too much, but he can’t _have_ that. He can’t _hope_.

“We should get up,” Phil says, grimacing into the space between them before he shifts back, brings himself to his feet. Dan does the same, though his knees ache from the hard tile, and his lips turn down to match Phil’s. Of course, this was just a quick hook up, he and Phil, and surely Phil’s about ready to be rid of Dan.

Once he’s stood, his frown deepens - he feels like a complete mess, covered in his own come and sore and a little shaky still. He’s no doubt his hair is a disaster as well - frankly, _he’s_ likely a complete disaster, he doesn’t blame Phil wanting to get him out sooner rather than later.

“Hold still,” Phil commands, though, and Dan’s too surprised - and a little at a loss - to do anything but listen. Phil offers him a small smile before disappearing back into his bedroom, and Dan hears the sink for a few moments before Phil emerges again, wielding a wet cloth. Dan reaches out to take it as soon as Phil’s close enough, but Phil blatantly ignores him and steps into Dan’s space, holds one hand against his hip as he uses the other to clean up Dan’s chest and stomach, the edge of Dan’s - or, rather, _Phil’s_ \- sweatpants.

It’s not anything sexual, not really, but there’s a tug in Dan’s chest and he’s tempted to lean into Phil’s touch, to just be _closer._ It’s a silly feeling, but he’s a little sleepy and a little sappy and a _lot_ content right now, so he does it anyway. He lets his head fall into Phil’s shoulder just as Phil’s running the cloth across Dan’s chest again, and Phil turns just a bit, exhales a soft chuckle into Dan’s hair.

Then there’s a light pressure at the side of Dan’s head and Dan’s pretty sure it feels like lips, but he doesn’t want to ruin the moment by asking if Phil just kissed his hair in the exact way he had sort of been hoping Phil would. So he just lets Phil slide a hand up his back - it’s still a bit wet, though it seems he’s discarded the cloth somewhere else - and pull him close into his chest.

It’s a slow, gentle moment and Dan’s not even properly sure how long it lasts, but it feels like a long time and not very long at all, and then Phil’s pulling away. Dan wonders if it was worth it, having that moment of closeness before being thrown out. Although, in spite of being a demon, Phil seems too nice for that, so it’d probably be a polite excuse that he’s got things to attend to, and it’s been lovely, they’ll see each other around. And then they definitely won’t.

“I _told you_ they’d get cold,” Phil complains as he turns away, and it’s all Dan can do to follow the movement as Phil steps toward the forgotten stack of pancakes on the breakfast bar, pokes at them with a finger. Dan twists his lips against a grin.

“I don’t recall you saying we should stop?” Dan asks, sneaking a bit of teasing into his tone. Perhaps he won’t be thrown out just yet. He can drag this out a little longer before the inevitable. He tries to embrace this, enjoy it. Phil’s gaze is dark when he glances back over his shoulder.

“I didn’t want to,” he says, and Dan shivers at the attention. He wonders, briefly, if it’s quite possible he could go another round this morning without actually dying. He sort of wants to test that out. 

Except then Phil’s lips curl up in a proper grin, his attention refocuses on the pancakes, and he mumbles something about warming them up before sticking the plate into the microwave on the counter and setting it to reheat.

Dan listens to the whirring as he watches Phil turn back, lean against the counter and let his gaze drift over Dan. It’s not even a heavy gaze, this time, but it still makes Dan squirm - it’s more _appraising_ , more thoughtful than primal, and Dan’s really not sure what to do with his hands now. His wings shuffle behind him, pull in tight against his back, and he sort of wishes he could read minds.

When Phil’s lips part, he’s not exactly sure what’s about to come out, but Phil doesn’t look annoyed or bothered or like he’s about to ask Dan to leave, so he does his best to stay calm.

“I don’t suppose you’re into video games?” Phil asks, and it takes Dan a solid ten seconds and very wide eyes to properly comprehend the question.

“Video games? Ye- _yeah_ , yeah I’m into video games,” he finally sputters out along with a chuckle, and Phil’s face lights up like fucking fairy lights.

“Mario Kart?” Dan scoffs like it’s the most normal thing in the world, Phil asking him if he plays Mario Kart. Like this is a normal morning. Like anything at all about this could be considered _normal_.

“I hope you’re ready to have your ass handed to you,” Dan quips with a grin, unable to do anything but match Phil’s evident and unexpected enthusiasm. He even goes as far as to quirk a brow, lean a hip against the breakfast bar. 

“Big words, angel boy,” Phil beams right back at him, “fitting for such a big mouth.” Dan can feel his cheeks flush at the implication, but Phil doesn’t stop long enough to tease him. For that, anyway. “But I’ll have you know, I’m the reigning Mario Kart _champion_. I’ve never met anyone I couldn’t beat.”

“You hadn’t met me yet,” Dan tilts his head, smirking and crossing his arms over his chest. Of everything he’s done these past...twelve? Eighteen? However many hours, he’s without a doubt most confident about this. But Phil’s expression just softens, his lips purse like he’s trying not to smile, and Dan wonders what exactly he said, what’s going on in Phil’s head.

“No,” he does smile, then, properly, “I hadn’t.”


	4. Part 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for the lovely rose (on [tumblr]() and [ao3]()) happy birthday dear!

Phil should _not_ have invited Dan to hang out at the club during his shift. 

He’d been thrilled, of course, for the opportunity to brush by Dan every time he returned to the bar to get a drink order, ecstatic at the chance to trail his fingers across Dan’s wing and earn that little hum from Dan’s lips. But that’d quickly turned into a massive distraction, Dan’s luminescent wings dragging his gaze to them no matter which table he stood at. 

And Dan can _tell_. Or at least, Phil’s fairly certain he can - the way Dan turns on the barstool, shifts his wings so they shine under the light, the way he tilts his head when he catches Phil staring, his lip curling up in a silent promise. And _fuck,_ it’s barely an hour into his shift.

“ _Phil!_ ” PJ’s shout, not for the first time tonight, tugs Phil from his staring. A glare from PJ makes him rush back over to the bar just five feet from where Dan’s sipping some multilayered, colorful drink through a purple straw, his lips puckered around the-

“ _Phil_ , you absolute- jesus christ, do I have to send Dan home?” Phil whips around to find PJ frowning at him, and he sucks in a breath.

“No! No, I’m- it’s fine, I’ll- _super_ focused, I’ll be super _laser_ focused, I promise.” He grabs a trayful of drinks and whirls around, barely catching one of the poorly-balanced martini glasses before it tips over. He can do his job! He’s done it for _years_ , in spite of other gorgeous patrons drawing his eye. Dan shouldn’t be any different, even though Phil knows he is. 

He doesn't miss PJ’s pointed scoff as Phil heads back toward the tables; clearly, he’s not as confident in Phil’s ability to put Dan aside for the time being.

But Phil’s nothing if not determined, and as tempting as Dan looks perched on the barstool with those dark jeans and tight shirt, the glowing wings arching from his back, the pink lips that undoubtedly taste of all kinds of alcohol but probably taste mostly like _Dan_...and Phil’s lost his train of thought.

Right. Focusing. On his _job_ , not Dan. He can have Dan to himself later, for as long as he wants.

He’s proud of himself for serving table after table, customer after customer, without so much as a _glance_ in Dan’s direction - and all just as the show’s getting started for the evening. The orders have slowed to a halt, the patrons all focused on the lithe, rhythmic movements of the dancers, and Phil decides he’s probably earned a few moments to talk to Dan. Perhaps he can convince PJ he deserves a break, one involving Dan and a dark corner and those pretty pink lips, and-

“I _said_ you can fuck off, that’s what.” The voice sounds suspiciously Dan-like, but much more hostile than Phil’s ever heard. He rushes around the side of the stage and back to the bar, where someone’s stood blocking his view of Dan, someone with the dark wings of a demon and the fifties-reminiscent gelled-back hairstyle that makes bile rise at the back of his throat.

“I've got much better things I'd like to fuck, starting with your tight little angel ass…” the slimy words make Phil squirm as he glares daggers at Derek's back and sets his tray down on the bar with a hopefully audible thud.

Dan must've heard, with the way his wings shift and he looks up and behind Derek, wide brown eyes and pursed lips projecting his anger and exasperation across the space without a single word. Disgust, heat, anger, outright _fury_ swells in Phil’s chest. He reaches out to turn Derek around and tell him the only thing he'll be fucking is himself. Certainly not Dan. Not _Phil's_ Dan.

Just before his fingers find purchase, he catches sight of Derek's hand poised half an inch from Dan's wing and with the clear intent of touching it, already moving in. Phil's not forgotten how uncomfortable that'd made Dan last time.

 _Maybe_ he grabs Derek's shoulder a bit harder than necessary, and _maybe_ he whirls him around with slightly too much force, but pride tingles in his chest at Derek’s open-mouthed shock. Phil allows himself one quick glance at Dan and finds relief scrawled into his features, in the way he blows out a breath and a nervous smile tugs at his lips. 

“Hey asshole, he _said_ you can fuck off. I kindly suggest you do so.” Phil does his best to embody PJ’s stoic neutrality, the kind he reserves for too-rowdy patrons in the earliest hours of the morning. He thinks he's never done anything more challenging in his _life_ , being almost polite in spite of Derek sneering back at him, in spite of the disgust and anger roiling in his gut and demanding an outlet.

“Oh, you think he'd rather _you_ fuck him, do you?” Derek's grin sets a raging burn in Phil's chest, and he can feel his hands ball into fists. He hopes their shaking isn't too obvious. “That twink clearly wouldn't know good if it destroyed his pretty little ass, would you, princess?” Derek turns to glance over his shoulder just then, and Phil can feel the heat radiating off Dan's flushed cheeks from here, his teeth clenched so tight his jaw twitches with the force. It takes Phil all of one second to make up his mind, then he's tapping Derek's shoulder, waiting impatiently for him to turn back.

“I believe he said to _fuck off_.” Phil does his best to keep his tone even, though it absolutely turns hostile - he’s not sure it's a particularly _emphatic_ or _impactful_ line, but he accents it with a swing of his fist that catches Derek right in his smug grin, and he's pretty sure _that_ was impactful.

Impactful enough that his fist explodes with white-hot pain, but it's more than worth it to watch Derek stumble back, to watch his wings go wide in an attempt to keep himself upright, to watch the trickle of blood that falls from the split corner of his lip. Dan’s mouth drops open and his eyes go wide as he glances between Derek's cursing, hunched form and Phil. And _fuck_ it felt amazing to finally deck that asshole.

“Chris!” PJ's voice echoes behind the rushing of blood in Phil's ears, and Chris appears seconds later, his hand clamped firmly on Derek's shoulder. In spite of the surge of triumph and pride, Phil's glad when Derek turns away without much fight. His eyes scream malice and venom, but he's running with his tail between his legs and that's all Phil cares about for now - all that matters is that Dan's safe.

“Phil?” Dan's voice sounds soft, close, and it takes Phil a moment to realize he's right there, right beside Phil with a hand on his arm. “You okay?”

Phil sucks in a breath, unclenches his fist and his jaw and every muscle in his body. _Is_ he okay? He turns to Dan, to those eyes and lips and broad shoulders and gorgeous wings. The ones safe from the unwanted touch, because he punched Derek.

“Of course, I'm- are _you_ alright? Derek-”

“I cannot _believe_ you just did that, oh my god, Phil,” Dan's voice trails into something like nervous laughter, and he glances over his shoulder at the door where Chris had escorted the asshole out. 

As much as Phil wants to laugh this off, embrace the silly, giddy feeling still threaded through his veins, he can't get the image of Derek's hand out his head, the way he had almost touched Dan's wings, something Dan's said on many occasions makes him immensely uncomfortable. Phil's own hand drifts up, his fingers landing gently on the very edge of the white feathers; a piece of him worries - even now, even _months_ later - that Dan might change his mind, might tell Phil it makes him uneasy and he'd rather Phil keep his hands clear as well. 

Which Phil would respect, of course, but the level of _trust_ Dan seems to have in Phil sends his heart soaring.

“Phil, your hand…” Dan trails off, his eyes trained on Phil's hand, right where it rests on his wing, and Phil jerks it back - clearly, he was right to worry, this is it, this is- “ _Phil,_ that doesn't look- _shit._ ”

Dan's hand catches his mid-air, and even the light pressure sets everything throbbing. Now that he's looking, the knuckles have split, and the slightest bend of his fingers makes everything feel loose and tight at the same time, like someone jumbled up all his bones. He looks up to find Dan staring at him, now, lips pressed tight in concern.

“Dan,” the voice makes Phil turn, and he finds PJ staring pointedly between him and Dan. “Take him home, get him fixed up. Phil,” a quirked brow, “you're off until that heals. Try not to get it in your head that punching patrons is something I'll allow.”

Phil opens his mouth to argue, to defend himself and Dan because that whole moment had been so _wrong_ and surely PJ should've been able to see-

“I get it,” PJ waves his hand in dismissal, “he deserved it. Get out of here.” He leaves them with a smirk that says Phil's not in _too_ much trouble, then goes back to mixing something behind the bar. Dan's hand closes a little tighter on Phil's, and he winces at the pressure.

“Sorry! Sorry, but let's- you need like, ice or something, I think.” Dan frowns down at Phil's hand, brows knitted in concentration. “Think you can make it home?” Phil coughs out a laugh at the implication.

“It's my _hand,_ angel boy. I think I'll survive.” He grins at the way Dan dips his head, the pet name making him rustle his wings behind him. Now that the initial adrenaline rush has worn off, a whole new kind of rush cascades over him: he gets to leave early, with Dan. He has hours and hours and _hours_ of Dan all to himself.

It's not that he doesn't get to see Dan often - in fact, there are some days where Dan may as well live at Phil's flat for how long he spends there - but Phil's glad for every single minute. 

Dan drops Phil's injured hand and takes the other, dragging him off toward the entrance with a huff and something said under his breath that Phil doesn't hear but chuckles at anyway - knowing Dan, it was either something sarcastic or something far too earnest for him to say at a normal volume. To Phil, either is incredibly endearing.

The walk home feels silent, though, far too silent, and Phil isn't sure how to feel about it.

“You okay?” He gives Dan's hand a quick squeeze, and Dan turns toward him. In the heat of the moment, Phil had been far more focused on Derek than Dan, and he can't even properly recall if Dan's answered, if he actually _is_ okay or not.

“I'm good, I could've dealt with him, if I had to.” Dan's shrug lifts Phil's arm as well. He looks like he's telling the truth - he’s not avoiding Phil's gaze or pursing his lips or doing any of the things that might make Phil worry, so he tries to let those concerns float away on the passing breeze. Dan's okay, Phil's mostly okay aside from his hand, and they're headed back to his flat for the evening.

This time, the silence between them settles into something comfortable, something familiar, and Phil doesn't mind it. They stay like that the whole rest of the way to Phil's flat, right up until they're stood outside his door and Phil digs in his pocket for his keys. But it’s his hurt hand and he sucks in a breath the moment his fingers slide into his pocket and the coarse fabric scrapes at his cuts; Dan just coughs out a laugh before pulling Phil's hand gently away by the wrist and digging into Phil's pocket himself.

His long, slender fingers slide against Phil's thigh, and he's not sure at first if Dan's actually going for his keys or purposely taking his time and winding Phil up. But by the time he’s glanced up to gauge Dan's expression, the keys are already in Dan's hand and on their way to unlocking the door. 

Dan steps in first, tosses the keys on the table and kicks his shoes off, and Phil revels in the way he acts so at home here. He's already digging around in the freezer - Phil assumes for ice - by the time Phil's gotten his own shoes off, and he busies himself searching for a plastic baggie.

“No, no no no, go sit, prop your hand up or something. You shouldn't move it.” Dan commands from the fridge, a frown on his lips that accentuates his dimple. 

“I'm not! See?” He wiggles it in the air for emphasis, which only makes the joints ache, and he's pretty sure he didn’t hide his ensuing grimace well enough.

“Yeah, okay, knight in shining armor, go sit down and _quit moving it_.” Dan points forcefully at the sofa, and Phil raises his other hand in a show of submission; if Dan's that determined to take care of him, he supposes he won't argue. Besides, it could be fun. A smirk touches his lips as Dan turns back to his task of breaking up some ice to use, and Phil lets himself admire the way his wings arch and stretch out as he bends over. Then he lets himself admire Dan's ass, and _then_ he makes his way over to the lounge. 

His viewing angle isn't quite as good over here, so he does his best to wait patiently for Dan to get the ice and bring it over. ‘Patiently’, of course, turns into ‘impatiently’ in a matter of thirty seconds, then he's lifted his hand to examine it, to test each finger and joint and determine the full extent of the damage.

Ultimately, he decides he's _probably_ fine, just sore and sporting some split skin that'll eventually heal. Dan arrives, then, wielding a bag of ice and reaching out his hand to take Phil's. 

“Okay, so google said like fifteen minutes on, fifteen off? Until the swelling goes down.” Dan's examining his hand the same way Phil had, and his lips twist as his thumb brushes gently over the broken skin of Phil's knuckles. “Maybe need bandages for that.” It's more a mumble than anything, and Phil watches the way Dan shifts, tilts his head, shrugs his wings before setting Phil's hand gently on the armrest.

He lets the ice rest on top of it with such care that Phil has the urge to tell Dan he's _fine_ , probably nothing's broken, and he doesn't need to look so concerned, but then Dan's heading toward the bathroom; it's only been a few minutes, but Phil's kind of enjoying being taken care of like this, so he keeps his mouth shut and decides to let Dan do whatever he wants. 

Dan returns with the few bits of medical equipment Phil owns, if antiseptic and bandages can really even be called ‘medical equipment’, and settles on his knees in front of the sofa. It's a position he's been in many times, but this one isn't full of wide eyes and lips stretched tight around Phil's cock. He wonders, briefly, if they might end up there soon.

A stinging sensation quickly kills those thoughts, though, a thousand tiny pricks of fire on his knuckles, and he sucks in a breath and lets it out with a slow hiss. 

“Sorry, sorry, this’ll sting a bit,” Dan says unhelpfully, and Phil bites back a sour, pain-induced comment about it being a bit late for a warning; Dan doesn't have to be here, taking care of Phil, but he is. Ultimately, Phil's grateful.

The stinging fades into a dull throb as Dan wraps the bandage around his hand, his lithe fingers gentle and cautious as they hold Phil still. The slow, rhythmic motion is a bit mesmerizing, and Phil gets lost in it for a few seconds before Dan stops, sits back on his heels and stands. 

“There, all set. Just, like, be careful with it. I think it'll heal okay.” He's frowning down at Phil's hand now, then he quickly sets it on the armrest again and places the bag of ice over the bandage. “Uhm. Can I get you anything? Something to drink, or-”

“ _Dan_ ,” Phil laughs through his name, reaching his uninjured hand out to grab Dan and pull him closer. His wings arch and flap - his attempt at resistance - before he gives in and half-tumbles into Phil's lap. He lists to the side, though, away from the armrest and the ice resting on Phil's hand, and he mumbles a chorus of ‘ _careful careful careful!_ ’ the whole way down. 

“Phil, you can't- I don't want to hurt you,” he grumbles when Phil's free hand slides up his back, pulls him closer. But his resistance ends there, the fight dying on his tongue the moment Phil presses their lips together. Then his tongue seems to find other things to do, like lick at Phil's mouth, and his hands stop their nervous hovering over Phil's shoulders and find purchase on his shirt, on the back of his neck, anything to get closer to Phil.

Dan, as it turns out, is quite easy to distract.

Phil's injured hand twitches, anxious to move and appreciate every inch of Dan with his fingertips. It feels left out, he thinks, cold and isolated and unable to touch, and has it been fifteen minutes yet? Surely it's close enough.

The bag of ice crinkles as he shifts his hand, and it's like someone set off the fire alarm for how quickly Dan scrambles back, breaks their chest-to-chest connection, whips his head around to check Phil's hand. 

“Don't you _dare_.” His voice drips with the same determination he’d had in the bar earlier, telling Derek to fuck off, and the unexpectedly hard gaze he gives Phil freezes every muscle in place. Except his mouth, apparently.

“What, you don’t want to-” he's half a second from saying something suave, or perhaps just outright dirty, something to tempt Dan back into his arms, back into his lap, pressed against him again, when Dan smacks a hand over his mouth.

“No, no, you're not tempting me. You have to heal!” Dan’s eyes widen, and he crosses his free arm over his chest. Phil lifts his pinky in the space between them.

“I _promise_ I won't move it,” Phil mumbles against Dan’s palm. His lips twist in suspicion, but he pulls his hand back to let Phil speak properly. “Butyou don't want to get into a game of denying me what I want, _angel boy_.” He’s going for that dominating tone, the one Dan seems so fond of, and it earns him quirked brows. 

“Is that so, demon boy?” Phil has to resist the urge to kiss that silly pet name off Dan's tongue - he doesn’t say it with quite the right tone, Phil thinks, but it's endearing. Besides, Dan's ensuing grin looks absolutely _wicked_ , and in spite of his words, Phil's suddenly feeling in the mood for a game. “Because what I'm seeing is a poor demon with a hurt hand and absolutely _no way to get off by himself._ ”

It isn't _strictly_ true, of course - Phil's still got his left hand - but it's not the same, and certainly not the same as _Dan_ , and he gives Dan a tight-lipped smile. One that leaves Dan grinning, his wings spreading behind him in what Phil can only describe as an adorable display of dominance. It's kind of cute letting Dan try to be in charge.

“I suppose you're not entirely wrong,” Phil offers, letting the lead out a bit, testing where Dan might want to take this. Shockingly, Dan doesn't have much care for the art of subtlety, and he leans into Phil and grinds his hips down. It's teasing, at worst, and Phil gives Dan a small smirk, a silent question of ‘ _is that all?’_

Dan's response is to lean in, brush his lips against Phil's.

“You're playing a dangerous game, demon boy.” Phil has to suppress a giggle, because Dan sounds positively adorable trying so hard to have the upper hand.

“Am I?” His mouth moves against Dan's, and then _Dan's_ the one smirking, trailing his lips against Phil's jaw and down his neck, nipping and biting at the skin there. Phil lets himself get lost in it, in Dan's attempts at torturing him. 

The moment Dan's hands find the waistband of his jeans, dip below them and trace the skin there, Phil decides to just go with it. It's rare he fully gives up control, but with Dan...he thinks he could. It wouldn't be any different from normal, not really. All he has to do is drag a hand through Dan's wing and he'll have him falling apart beneath him again, relinquishing that moment of domination in a mess of moans and shivering skin. 

Phil shivers now, though, as Dan's nails drag against his hips, the precursor to him dragging Phil's jeans down, and he lifts himself just enough for Dan to get them off. 

His cock springs free, already half hard from Dan's lips and tongue, and Phil almost expects Dan's mouth around it in a moment for how hungrily he's staring. His gaze drags up, though, and he stays utterly still.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” Dan meets his gaze and it's serious, a moment of question.

“What did you have in mind, angel boy?” Phil tries to keep his tone teasing, light, but he's having a hard time coming up with _anything_ Dan could do that he'd want him to stop. Especially not the direction they're currently headed. Nerves spark in his chest.

But Dan just barks out a laugh, and Phil _thinks_ that means he can relax.

“Torture, but only the good kind, I promise.” Dan's smirk softens into a genuine smile. “But only if you want.” It feels strange, having the tables turned like this, but new isn't necessarily bad. And the way Dan says ‘torture’, the way his eyes drop to Phil's cock, he thinks this might be a _very_ good kind of new.

“Well get on with it, then, angel boy,” he adds a wink for good measure - he's been practicing - and Dan's grin widens. Then he's gone, up and off Phil's lap completely and disappearing into the bedroom. Cold air replaces his warmth, and Phil shudders at the absence.

He doesn’t bother trying to guess why Dan’s disappeared because he’s back and with a bottle of lube in hand before Phil can even really get to wondering. His brows do quirk up, however, when Dan fishes into his pocket and pulls out a cock ring.

“Oh, so _that_ kind of torture, then.” His cock twitches against his stomach, already intrigued by whatever Dan has in mind, but Dan pauses a step away from the sofa. His hand tightens around the ring, then he drops it back toward his pocket, and his wings shift behind him, pulling closer against his back.

“We don’t, like, have to, if you’re-”

“What, can’t hold up your promises of torture, is that it, angel boy?” Phil interrupts before Dan can get too deep into his worries - his tone _had_ been a bit ambiguous, Phil supposes, but he definitely wants this. Wants _Dan_ , and whatever Dan’s got planned.

Clearly he had _plans_ \- Phil’s pretty sure Dan doesn’t go around with a cock ring in his pocket all the time. In fact, he can attest to it, given how often he’s dragged Dan’s jeans from his legs. No, there was definitely intent behind this. Phil watches as Dan’s expression shifts, eyes narrowing and a smirk curling his lips.

“Careful what you wish for, _demon boy_.” Phil’s grin matches Dan’s, though he has to bury the urge to tell Dan that the whole ‘demon boy’ thing doesn’t really give the vibe he’s probably hoping for. Phil’s not sure Dan could ever properly pass for ‘evil’, maybe _taunting_ at best.

God, he’s a tease, though. Phil’s hand twitches under the bag of ice as Dan leans in closer, trails his fingers down Phil’s chest to his now-aching cock; a part of him wants to ignore the throbbing in his hand in favor of relieving _that_ throbbing, even just for a few seconds, but Dan beats him there.

His long - and a bit chilly - fingers wrap around Phil’s length and pump him slowly, languidly, _teasingly_ , before he slides the cock ring on. It’s a solid pressure at the base he’s not unfamiliar with, but he’s already anticipating how much more intense it’ll get as Dan places a knee on either side of his hips and settles on his bare thighs.

In spite of the desire to wrap his hand around himself now that Dan’s gone, he leans forward instead, reaching out to brush his hand across Dan’s wing; he’s got them half spread out behind him and nearly trailing on the floor in the way Phil’s come to know means that he’s utterly relaxed. 

So he’s a bit surprised when Dan twitches them back and just out of Phil’s reach, and he glances over to find Dan’s brow quirked up, his lips twisted into a taunting sort of smile.

“Oh no, you don’t get to touch, not yet,” he says as he pushes at Phil’s shoulders, guiding him back against the sofa as he leans in. Phil’s hand - the uninjured one - rests against Dan’s side in spite of the instruction, and Dan wraps his fingers around Phil’s wrist. “ _No touching._ ”

Phil finds his arm pinned to the cushion beside him a moment later, though he’s a bit too focused on Dan’s other hand to really care; it’s found the buttons of his shirt, and Dan manages to undo them with surprisingly little effort. His nails scratch lightly at the skin of Phil’s chest as he pulls the shirt open, though he doesn’t make any move to take it off completely, and Phil wonders if that’s got anything to do with his injury.

He loses his train of thought when Dan’s lips find his neck, though; it’s a spot more sensitive to Dan than it usually is to him, but Dan’s mouth trails lower and lower down his chest, and Phil can feel his hips shift up in a silent invitation he hopes Dan understands.

He must, Phil reasons, because Dan pauses to huff out a warm breath of a laugh against Phil’s hip before pointedly ignoring Phil’s throbbing cock in favor of moving down off his thighs and onto the floor, spreading Phil’s legs in the process.

Phil had honestly forgotten completely about the lube until he hears the pop of a cap just below his line of sight, and he shifts up to find Dan squirting a bit out on his fingers. He glances up just then, catching Phil’s gaze, and Dan’s brows lift in a silent question, or maybe confirmation, but it’s clear he’s looking for permission. Phil wants to laugh - even when he’s trying to be in control, he’s still deferential.

Phil gives him a nod, though, because he’s enjoying this; the slight tension of whatever’s coming next, of letting Dan call the shots, it’s got his blood racing and his skin flushed with warmth. He wonders if he ought to relinquish control to Dan more often.

A hand meets the skin under his thigh just then, tugging him out of his thoughts and into the present, and he lets Dan guide him lower on the sofa and lift his foot up onto the coffee table. It’s chilly, the way he’s exposed, but _god_ he can’t think of anything hotter right now than seeing Dan framed between his legs like this, his tongue flicking out over his lips and the top of his wing just brushing against the back of Phil’s knee. The sensation borders on ticklish, and Phil has half a mind to adjust until a warm breath on his cock distracts him.

Dan takes ahold of Phil’s length, and his lips meet the tip just as his finger brushes against his rim, and it’s quite a lot to adjust to all at once; his breath comes in a gasp, and his fists clench tight as he tries to reign in his suddenly rapid heart rate. 

_Both_ his fists, unfortunately, and the bag of ice crinkles as he carefully splays his hand out flat again. Phil worries for a moment that Dan will catch the grimace he couldn’t hold back, the shaky exhale as he waits for the ache to dull down, but Dan seems wholly focused on his task.

It’s just as well, as Phil’s quite focused on _Dan_ not a moment later, when the wet warmth of Dan’s mouth covers his cock and his finger slides carefully past the ring of muscle. Phil’s entire body tenses with every slight move Dan makes, his slow pace of hand and mouth in perfect rhythm with each other and already dragging Phil dangerously close to the edge.

Except the tight pressure at the base of his cock, the one accentuated by every bob of Dan’s head, serves as a quick reminder that this is all buildup, this is all _torture_. His free hand itches to twine into Dan’s hair, to give himself some modicum of control, but Dan’s command not to touch echoes at the back of his head.

A part of him wants to squeeze his eyes shut, revel in the nearly overwhelming sensation of _Dan_ , but the more insistent part demands he keep watching, demands he absorb every single second of Dan’s gorgeous lips wrapped around his cock, the brief glances of Dan’s fingers - two now - sliding in and out of him. Dan’s wings twitch, the one brushing against the back of Phil’s leg, and a choked moan escapes his throat - it’s just a _lot_.

If the stretch and warmth of Dan inside and around him weren’t enough, Phil can feel the exact moment Dan’s fingers curl, clearly in search of-

“ _Fuck_ ,” the curse comes out on a shaky breath, one that probably destroys any pretense he ever had of being composed and in control, as Dan hits his prostate. Then it’s every other thrust, sending spikes of pleasure through his core that join up with the continuous pleasure of Dan’s mouth on his cock, working him up to the point where he _knows_ he’d be moments away from coming were it not for the ring preventing it.

Dan’s utterly relentless, though, as if Phil’s reaction only spurred him on; his long fingers slide in and out in perfect time with his lips, and Phil can feel himself shaking, his uninjured hand fisting the cushion beside him. If his wings had any range of movement, he knows they’d be arched out, tense in some attempt to relieve the pressure building in his core, but they’re left crushed into the sofa and his only outlet is a soft whimper in the back of his throat.

The noise makes Dan glance up, his dark brown eyes peeking through thick lashes, and his pace slows minutely. If Phil had literally any control left, he’d probably try to contain himself at least a little, but his hips jerk up just slightly until he nudges the back of Dan’s throat; it’s hardly any change, a matter of centimeters, but it drags another embarrassing noise from his mouth and he wishes he could stop and grab the sound from the air, swallow it back down.

Actually, he wishes he could do that without stopping at all, because now _Dan’s_ the one swallowing around him, and _fuck_ he wasn’t joking about the torture - it’s way too much all at once, and his free hand decides it can ignore Dan’s rule. He reaches out, dragging his fingers through Dan’s hair and pulling a delicious moan from Dan that vibrates down the length of Phil’s cock and leaves him leaned back against the sofa, trying his best to catch his breath.

The whole thing, it’s too much, and - of course - not nearly enough. Every muscle in his body feels on the verge of snapping from being wound so tight, his limbs shaking with the overwhelming waves of pleasure rushing through them. He has to squeeze his eyes shut, then, just to remove one source of stimulation: the incredible image of Dan between his legs, lips stretched tight around his cock.

His fingers twine tighter into Dan’s hair, an unintentional warning but probably a necessary one - he’d love this to go on forever, in theory, but his body aches to find release and he’s not sure how much more of this he can take.

Everything stops almost immediately, and Dan pulls off Phil’s cock with a pop. The noise at the back of Phil’s throat, however, is a much less satisfied one, and he wishes he could tell his body _not_ to sound quite so desperate.

“You okay?” Dan’s voice sounds crackly and hoarse and _fuck_ if that doesn’t make Phil’s not-really-controlled desperation shoot through the roof.

“Yeah,” he chokes out around a rapid breath, and Dan’s brows quirk up. Phil hardly notices, too distracted by Dan’s cracked lips and the tongue he flicks out over them. There’s a long moment in which neither of them talks, the only real sound Phil’s breaths coming just a hair faster than Dan’s.

“You want to come, demon boy?” Phil watches as Dan’s lip curls up into a wicked smirk, and he can’t decide whether he wants to pull him into a kiss or encourage him to return to his previous state between Phil’s legs. Both feel like excellent choices.

Then both ideas fall by the wayside as Dan drags a finger across Phil’s hip, light enough to probably make him ticklish any other time, and the feathers of his wing brush against Phil’s leg. With every inch of his body on fire, though, he shudders at those simple touches, and Dan coughs out a crackly laugh.

“You’re lucky I like you, or I’d make you beg,” Dan smirks as his long fingers slide down Phil’s cock, taunting as he tugs at the ring. If Phil had any thought right now aside from desperation, aside from _finally_ getting his release, he might laugh at Dan’s implication, at his little foray into having some control. As it stands, though, he grips tight into Dan’s hair as the ring slides off, doing his best to keep from coming on the spot.

He at least wants a _little_ more fun, first.

Phil’s really not sure where the ring disappears to, too focused on _Dan_. There’s barely a thought, then, at the edge of his mind, one he’s not sure he’s ready to give his full attention to but one he knows in his chest to be an important one. Something about the way Dan’s tilted his head, lips puffed and pink and cheeks dusted the same color, wide eyes staring at him, there’s _something_ there in his chest that stands out from the rest of the wound-tight strings of his muscles. A thing he resolves to think about later, but right now, it’s just Dan.

 _Just_ Dan, as if Dan could be simplified to anything, as if he’s not so many different things at once that Phil loses track. Maybe a demon in an angel’s body, maybe an angel with demonic tendencies, but most _definitely_ a bit too into torture in this moment, in the way his lip curls up and he licks a single stripe up the length of Phil’s cock. The way he gives head should be banned in every dimension.

He pulls back, though, leaving Phil cold and hard and aching, though he does at least manage to hold back the whimper clawing its way up his throat. His hand falls from Dan’s hair as he stands, and Phil honestly had completely forgotten Dan was still fully clothed.

His hands find the button of his own jeans, undo them, slide them slowly down his thighs. The muscles in Phil’s stomach tense as he tries to sit up, but Dan pauses at the motion, glares down.

“ _No touching_.” It’s a short command, one made less forceful by the cracking in Dan’s voice, but he doesn’t continue his slow striptease until Phil relaxes back into the sofa, if having every single part of his body so tight it might snap could be considered ‘relaxed’ in any way.

The moment Dan slides his thumbs under the waistband of his pants, Phil’s hand finds his own cock - it’s maybe not the best idea, with how close he is, but he needs _something_ , his cock aches and he can’t just lay there.

“I _said_ no touching,” Dan stops again, the black fabric just barely revealing the tip of his own leaking cock, and Phil swallows thickly. They stare at each other in silence for a moment - actually, Dan stares at Phil and Phil divides his attention between Dan’s hard gaze and his equally hard cock - before Phil’s hovering hand settles back on the cushion beside him. He grips it tight as Dan slides his pants down the rest of the way.

He pulls his shirt off as well, until he’s stood fully naked and flushed and so hot Phil could be stood right next to the _sun_ and it’d be chilly in comparison and _fuck_ Phil needs him right now. Needs Dan down to his core, and it’s such a visceral desperation that he has to bite his lip hard to focus, to maintain some semblance of control over himself.

Dan’s hand finds his own cock, easily just as hard as Phil’s, and gives it a few strokes; Phil might internally combust, he decides, and his entire body rocks up to match the slow rhythm Dan makes. 

“Bet you’d like to fuck me, yeah?” Dan’s voice pitches low, and he dips his head, locks eyes with Phil as he keeps his slow, steady movement. Phil barely manages a nod, his entire brain short-circuiting as he watches.

Dan just grins, a wicked sort of grin that spreads wide, and his wings match the motion. Phil’s hand digs harder into the cushion, and even his injured hand tenses in some pathetic attempt to relieve some of the desperation.

“You’d like to have your cock buried in me, drag your hands through my wings,” he adds, and his wings shift at the words, like he’s imagining it himself. His gaze darkens at Phil’s nod, the only movement he feels capable of at the moment.

The space between them disappears as Dan moves closer, straddles himself on Phil’s stomach while pointedly avoiding his cock. Phil’s pretty sure he could die from this, from the tension, the anticipation, the _need_ \- he shifts just slightly, a sad attempt at getting to Dan, at finding some friction there, but he’s lost all range of motion and Dan’s got him pinned.

“I told you, dangerous game you’re playing,” Dan smirks, his hand moving just a bit faster over his own cock. Phil shifts again anyway, as if this time will be different, he’ll find some friction, some _something_ to get him over the edge. His hand twitches by his side, anxious to move. 

“Think you can behave?” Dan asks, and Phil actually whimpers at the implication this might be _going_ somewhere, that he might be allowed some relief. Dan tilts his head at Phil's attempted agreement, squints like he’s unsure, like Phil might be lying. As if Phil has the capacity for such advanced thought at the moment. “You can help get me off, then.” He grins at the breath Phil sucks in. “You can touch me, but not yourself, not yet.” 

Phil has quite literally _no idea_ when Dan switched from this adorable angel trying to be dominating to _actually_ holding him in the palm of his hand like this, but he can _touch_ , he can do _something_ now, at least. His hand shakes as it makes its way to Dan, to slide up the bare skin of his thigh and hip as he watches Dan’s hand move over his cock, utterly mesmerized.

Phil’s hips don’t stop their futile grinding up into nothing, but it’s the closest he can get - he’s not yet been reprimanded for it - so he tries to focus, to _distract himself_ , by running his fingers through the feathers of Dan’s wing.

If Phil had anything, literally _any_ physical stimulation right now, he knows he’d be coming hard at the way Dan shudders, the way he bows over and drops his head to Phil’s shoulder, the way his breaths come hard and fast and hot against the skin of Phil’s neck. He can feel Dan’s hand speed up, the pace more erratic as he brings himself closer, and Phil combs his hand through Dan’s wings again.

He feels just as close to the edge as Dan seems to be, though Dan’s at least got the benefit of his own hand pumping his cock, and _fuck_ Phil wishes that were him, or at least wishes he could touch, but maybe with Dan distracted like this…

Phil trails his hand lower, back down Dan’s side and around to his ass, just about as close as he can get to his own cock without alerting Dan to what he’s doing. Fortunately, Dan’s panting and moaning in his ear, and he's surely too caught up in his own pleasure to notice.

Unfortunately, the moment Phil gets a grip on himself, a low moan escapes his throat right into Dan's ear, and there's absolutely no way Dan won't call him out, surely. So he works himself hard and fast, because he's so _so_ close he might be able to get off before-

“ _Phil_!” He doesn't stop, though, and he's glad for it - moments later, hot come spills across his chest and it's _Dan's_ , and Phil's name falling from his lips hadn't been a reprimand. 

It's enough, more than enough, and Phil follows Dan over the edge a moment later, a searing white-hot pleasure piercing him like lightning.

He doesn't remember the next few seconds, or minute maybe, before he returns from the stratosphere to land back in his body and on the sofa with Dan heavy on him and breathing slow into his shoulder. White fills his vision, and it takes a few slow moments for him to recognize the splay of Dan's wings draped across them both.

“Fuck.” It’s Dan that says it, breathes it into Phil's skin, but it seems an appropriate echo for Phil's mind all the same. 

He hums some kind of response, though his noodly limbs have decided they're not ready to move yet, so he just inhales the scent of sweat-slicked skin and warmth and _Dan_. 

“Your hand okay?” It sounds like an afterthought, like Dan might've considered sitting up properly to check for himself, but trashed the idea a moment later. If he's feeling anything like Phil does, Phil can't really blame him.

Carefully, he tests the slightest movements of each finger under the bag of ice - there's still an ache, though they feel more frozen than anything.

“Reckon it's been fifteen minutes?” His own voice comes out sounding absolutely wrecked, but he doesn't have the energy to be embarrassed. Honestly, he thinks maybe even if he _did_ have the energy, he wouldn't be all that embarrassed. Dan's clearly just as affected.

“Yeah, I reckon.” That's Dan's only response, then he's dipped his head further into the crook of Phil's neck, just til he's sort of settled in a way that lets him rest on Phil's shoulder. Phil tilts his head to lay on top of Dan's, a sleepy grin tugging at his cheeks. Dan's wings shift again, then tuck tighter around them both, and Phil trails a finger along the edge. Dan grumbles something into Phil's skin.

“Hm?” He can feel Dan's lips as they open and close.

“Said quit that, ‘m trying to _sleep_.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, lovelies! If you'd like, feel free to give it a cheeky lil [reblog on tumblr](https://knlalla.tumblr.com/post/177743425362/oh-fuck-now-i-need-a-smutty-fanfic-with-twinkdan)
> 
> all the thanks in the world to [rose (moon-boye)](https://moon-boye.tumblr.com/) for being such a wonderful beta and supporter!


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